Photograph
by Thrae Elddim
Summary: They were fragile, like the flimsy photograph that marked the beginning and created the end of their relationship. Oliver has misconceptions about normalcy, Hermione tries to make sense of her nightmares and Cedric struggles to live through the Triwizard Tournament. In the darkness, the reaper beckons and a terrible plot unfolds... OW/HG/CD, AU, character death.
1. The World Cup

Another Harry Potter fic, this time a multi-chapter! I've been obsessing over the fandom lately, so I figured that I may as well indulge. I have the epilogue written out and am currently about half way through the second chapter.

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns everyone but Moira Lowe.

* * *

Chapter One: The World Cup

Confusing, scary things happen sometimes. It's a fact of life. Just last year every fact that Hermione knew about Sirius Black was turned on its head, on top of having a werewolf as a professor. He was a great teacher and one of the least scary people she had ever known, but that's far from the point.

The real point was that sometimes being terrified is inevitable. Or at least that was what Hermione tried to tell herself every night after she woke up from the exact same nightmare.

Taking a look over at Ginny sleeping peacefully, she sighed with relief. The aftershocks of the pure fear that ran through her decreased, knowing that she hadn't woken her friend.

Deep, evenly spaced breaths decreased the shakes that Hermione was feeling until her hands only slightly trembled. When she closed her eyes again, trying to gain a moment of peace, the nightmare flashed in front of her eyes.

_A glowing trophy cup. A cemetery. Harry. A man holding a baby."Kill the spare." The killing curse and a whirlwind spiral into darkness._

It was a terrible, horrible nightmare that Hermione hated to admit she didn't understand. How did that grave yard end up in her mind? She had never seen it in her life. Who was the boy? He was another completely unknown factor. Probably the biggest question of the lot had to be why she was dreaming the death of a boy she didn't even know, who may not even exist.

After two weeks of the exact same scenario playing out as she slept, the boy's features were imprinted into her mind. If it weren't for the fear and eventual stillness in his expressions, Hermione could easily describe him as handsome, with tousled auburn hair and keen grey eyes. Although his features held hints of aristocracy, there was a certain youthful shine to him even in that awful situation.

Hermione sighed and shook her head, pushing the dream away. This wasn't the day for it, if there ever would be one. Today was to have fun, to be a regular teenager, to go to her first professional Quidditch game. The Quidditch World Cup.

Although she wasn't a complete nut for the game like Harry and Ron were, that wasn't to say she didn't enjoy it. It was just the flying part of things that bothered her. How anyone felt safe a hundred or more feet in the air with just a piece of wood holding them up was beyond her.

It wasn't even sunrise when Mrs. Weasley came in to get the girls up. "Best get ready before the boys," the red headed matron insisted, "You know it'll be chaos then."

Ginny was only half awake as she practically crawled out of bed, cursing as she hit her head on the wall somehow. "What time is it?" she grumbled, rubbing her head.

"Four," Hermione responded once she checked her watch. Although she was dead tired from that nightmare, she was wide awake.

In silence (Ginny's muttered profanities not withstanding) they cobbled together outfits and raided the bathrooms. Once in the shower, Hermione's worries seemed to fade away as they always did. There was nothing like steaming hot water to cure any woe.

The rest of the morning between then and leaving the house was sleepy, disorganized chaos. Percy, Charlie and Bill would be joining them later since those lucky buggers could apparate, leaving the younger siblings, Mr. Weasley, Harry and Hermione to trudge to the hill. The walk was made mainly in silence.

As she wandered after the others, Hermione gazed around at her surroundings dazedly. Even though she had just woken up, she felt so tired... It was like third year all over again, but without the benefits of extra classes.

"Everybody look around for the portkey!" Mr. Weasley called unexpectedly, jogging her out of Sleep Deprivation Land, "It won't be very big!"

Not knowing what she was supposed to be looking for was frustrating to Hermione. Still, she scanned the ground for anything out of the usual. Grass, grass, rabbit hole...

"I found it, Arthur!" called an unknown voice from the other side of the hill.

A man trudged up to the crown of the hill holding an old, mangled boot with a grin. He was fairly short and rather unimpressive, aside of having a knack for dressing up as a muggle.

Mr. Weasley obviously knew him, as he eagerly traversed the rest of the way up the large hill to clap him on the back. "Amos, how are you!" the red haired man greeted him, before introducing his children both natural and adopted.

"Amos Diggory," the man introduced himself, mainly speaking to Harry, "And this is- oh, where did he go..." He searched for his missing companion for a few seconds before calling, "Cedric!"

Right about then a boy jumped out of the tree into the midst of their little gathering, and Hermione's breath caught in her throat. She almost felt herself pale and stuck her hands in her pockets to prevent them from visibly shaking. It was _him_.

"This is my son, Cedric," Mr. Diggory introduced the newcomer, before adding, "Although you probably already know him from school. Beat you badly at Quidditch last year!" He laughed as he slapped his son on the back.

"Dad, it was only because Harry fell off his broom..." Cedric protested.

The conversation slid in one ear and out the other for Hermione. Her mind was racing too much to process exactly what was going on, except that the boy from her nightmares was _real._

"Hermione?" whispered Ginny, "You're alright?" The younger girl was frowning concernedly, glancing between Hermione and Cedric. Obviously, she was confused.

"Yes," Hermione lied, shaking herself out of her stupor, "Just dozed off on my feet." She even pasted a smile on to make it seem more realistic. No, she was about as far from okay as humanly possible.

Although Ginny examined her for a few extra seconds, she nodded. Then a wicked Fred-and-George grin came, before she asked in a low voice, "He is rather dishy, isn't he?"

Another look in Cedric's direction sealed the opinion Hermione had kept for weeks. "Make that completely gorgeous," she returned, seeing the grin the older boy had on. When he looked directly at her however, she couldn't help but blush and look down to fiddle with the strap of her bag.

'This is so backwards!' she moaned mentally, following Ginny on autopilot, 'I've already seen him die fourteen times, so why is this happening...!' Even with half of her brain still on a similar tangent, she managed to follow instructions and put a finger on the boot.

The jerking feeling at her navel startled Hermione into forgetting all about her prior dilemma. Her feet were lifted from the ground and suddenly the boot and everyone touching it were hurled away, their fingers glued to the portkey. On one side Ginny rammed into her, and on the other side Harry's elbow caught her in the ribs several times. To say the least, there would be bruises.

When with watering eyes she looked up from the boot, Hermione's breath was caught in her throat. He was staring right at her.

Almost as soon as she noticed, she was thrown from the portkey. There wasn't even time to scream before Hermione hit the ground in the middle of the pile of teens. "Oomph!" she grunted when Harry landed partially on top of her.

"As much as I like you there, can you get off me?" requested one of the twins from beneath her. His voice was slightly strained, and he seemed to have trouble breathing.

Realizing that she had landed straddling whichever twin it was, Hermione turned red. "If Harry will get off of me!" she hissed, embarrassed. She arched her back, hoping to get Harry to slide off of her.

"Please stop moving," the twin beneath Hermione groaned, glaring at the sky.

"You said to get off," Hermione snapped, "Make up your mind!" Almost as soon as she spoke, Harry managed to roll off of her.

A hand entered Hermione's line of sight and she grabbed it to haul herself up. While she loved the Weasley twins, that was a little too up close and personal for her tastes. What she didn't expect was to be pulled into a strong, unfamiliar chest.

It was Cedric, the boy whose death she had seen over and over in her nightmares. There was a pleasant half smile on his face and his grey eyes were intense as they stared down into hers. It was all so strange that he was there, warm and breathing.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

Unable to make her voice box function at the moment, Hermione simply nodded. While she had landed hard, at least she'd had a human landing pad.

"Is everyone alright?" Mr. Weasley's voice broke her out of her stupor. Hermione released Cedric's hand like it burned her and stepped away promptly, cheeks tinged pink. What was it with boys today?

Ginny gave her a searching look, an then a devious grin. This obviously wouldn't be forgotten when they were alone.

The muggle campsite coordinator directed them to their lots, in the same general direction but a wide distance apart from each other. The whole walk until the Diggorys split away from the Weasleys, Hermione was ultra aware of Cedric's movements as he walked beside her. His arms casually swinging, the steady sway of his long torso, his gaze wandering about, nothing managed to escape the attention that she really didn't want to pay him. It was simply instinct.

When it finally came time to part ways, it came as a relief. But at the same time, Hermione couldn't help glancing back at him, making sure that he was _real_.

The thing that got her to stop is that he kept looking back too. And he was smiling.

Once the Diggorys were out of sight, Ron rounded on her. "What was that about?" he demanded, scowling.

"What was what about?" Hermione returned, frowning.

"You and Diggory," Ron answered indignantly, "You looked like you were ready to eat each others faces!"

Despite knowing exactly what he meant, Hermione scowled and hissed, "Why does everything have to do with eating to you?"

The diversionary tactic worked; they argued about Ron's choices in insults the whole way to their camp site. Cedric Diggory wasn't mentioned again.

Mr. Weasley's excitement about putting the tent up the muggle way was infectious, and Hermione found herself smiling even as she explained the mallet to him. It took a while, but the tent was up by seven o'clock.

The inside of the tent was different than Hermione had expected. It smelled heavily of cats, she noticed immediately, although other than that it was quite pleasant if a bit shabby. There were five doors she noticed, two to each side and one at the far back beside the kitchenette.

"Bedrooms are off to the sides!" Mr. Weasley announced, "And the bathroom is to the back. Pick your bunks, everybody!"

As soon as Mr. Weasley had finished speaking, Ginny was dragging Hermione into the room beside the bathroom. "What was that with you and Diggory?" asked Ginny once the door was closed, "You had this weird look like you were scared to death." Obviously, she was far more perceptive than Ron.

"I was just shocked," Hermione shrugged, downplaying it while still telling the truth, "I had a strange dream with him in it and didn't know he was real until I saw him." She dumped her small bag onto the bottom bunk carelessly.

"That is weird," Ginny agreed, tossing her things onto the top bunk, "So you're dreaming about him already? I don't blame you, he's one beautiful man." With a wink and a conspiring comment, any tension was broken.

From then on, everything was perfectly normal almost. Only occasional flashes of Cedric interrupted Hermione's time with her friends as they fetched water, bought trinkets and finally went up to the top box.

Only when the Irish team sped onto the field did anything very interesting happen. "Troy, Mullet, Moran, Quigley, Lowe, Ryan and LYNCH!" Ludo announced, shouting the players names enthusiastically.

"Lowe?" Ron called, obviously disgruntled, "Who the bloody hell-"

"David Connolly is currently recuperating in Saint Mungo's after his appendix burst, so please welcome reserve beater Moira Lowe to the team!" Ludo shouted as the screen zoomed in on the only woman on the team, "The oldest professional Quidditch player at forty-one years and the hardest hitting Beater in the league, this is her second spectated match!"

Beside Hermione, Harry's jaw dropped. "Forty-one?" he asked no one in particular.

A look through her omnioculars showed what Harry meant. The only woman on the Irish team didn't look a day over twenty-five, with nary a wrinkle or grey hair in sight. She had pale, aristocratic features with deep set grey eyes and a determined tilt to her mouth. Her hair, long and raven black, flew in an arc around her head from her ponytail every time that she made a turn.

It was unfair that a woman could seemingly stay frozen in time. 'She must use a great amount of glamor charms,' Hermione decided, although she couldn't see the tell tale shimmer.

"There's no way she can hit harder than the Brazilian beaters," Ron denied, shooting Ludo a look over his shoulder.

As soon as the match began, it was obvious that Lowe did indeed hit hard. By the time Lynch plowed into the ground the first time, she had managed to break the Bulgarian Chaser Ivanova's arm and the Keeper's broom handle. She was ruthless.

It was no wonder that the Bulgarians got agitated quickly. After the Chasers, she became the most often fouled player on the Irish team. Nothing seemed to phase her however, right until she took a Bludger to the back at point blank range.

Hermione couldn't help flinching when the event was replayed on the large screen. Lowe had only been twenty feet away when Volkov aimed the Bludger at her, obviously using his full strength. When it impacted, her face was knocked into her broom handle and only her legs tightening around her broom kept her from falling off.

It was the look on her face that made Hermione really pity her though. She was obviously unable to breathe, her eyes wide and a hand clutching at her chest desperately. Slowly, her lips started to turn purple as saliva dripped from her trembling mouth.

At the same time, Krum dove again. All attention was drawn from the suffocating Beater to the two Seekers speeding toward the ground.

"He's feinting again!"

"Lynch is going to crash!"

Only one of the predictions was right, although Hermione didn't see which. Her eyes were still fixed with horror on the drifting Beater, who she saw through her omnioculars was slowly slipping out of consciousness.

"Krum caught the snitch but Ireland wins! Who would have thought!" Ludo announced jovially, before he shouted, "Someone save Lowe! She's falling!"

Her grip on her broom had faltered and she was in a free fall straight to the bottom of the stadium. One after another, players tried to catch her but missed or their grip slipped. Even the Bulgarians came to the rescue.

Krum dove at breakneck speed. This time his aim wasn't the snitch, which was still struggling in his hand, but the falling Beater.

"Come on, come on..." Harry muttered, pressing his omnioculars hard into his face.

Hermione's hands were trembling around her own pair as she watched. If Lowe hit the ground from where she had been hovering about three hundred feet up, death would be instant. As the ground came into sight, the young witch hid her eyes.

"Krum!" Ron howled in celebration. Everyone was cheering like mad, even Percy.

Warily, Hermione peeked. What she saw made her sigh in relief; instead of being a wet, dead mess, Lowe had been caught by none other than the Seeker of the opposing team. The relief made Hermione feel giddy, and she began cheering along with everyone else.

"And Krum has done it again!" Ludo announced gleefully, "Using his signature Wronski Feint in defense of the opposing Beater, what a catch!"

The large screen on the middle of the field showed Krum adjusting Lowe to lean against his chest while he carefully angled his broom toward the ground. Even with the woman's age known, they looked very good together, Hermione thought. Perhaps this would make it into the Bulgarian adverts.

When Hermione turned her omnioculars a little further down the field, she immediately spotted a woman's long, distinctive burgundy hair. From the way she got working on Lowe when Krum put her down, she was a Mediwitch. But why was she the only one out there now when with Lynch, there had been two or three fussing over him?

Hermione's wondering was cut short by Ludo. "And now a congratulations from the defeated Bulgarian team!" he called, to a multitude of cheers.

With a glow, the roof of the top box disappeared. When Hermione uncovered her eyes, she saw that the box was now on the large screen. Without any thought to it she pinked, biting her lip.

One by one, the Bulgarian players passed through the top box. They shook hands with their own minister before Britain's, occasionally giving a glance over the spectators in the box. Last came Viktor Krum, blood still freely flowing from his nose.

On the ground he wasn't nearly as impressive as in the air, round shouldered and duck footed. In his own way he was still impressive however, made to fly. He was one of those that scanned the box seats, but unlike his team mates, his gaze lingered.

Specifically, Krum took a long moment to look directly at Hermione before he finally exited the box after his team mates. It made her heart jump into her throat. It wasn't exactly a common thing for her to get male attention, aside of when they asked for homework help.

"And now the winners of the 1994 Quidditch World Cup, the Irish team!" Ludo announced grandly.

The players filed in and shook hands with both ministers, with Lynch being supported by Moran and Quigley. Last inside was Lowe, who rode in on Ryan's back. Like Lynch, her eyes were unfocused and she was dazed, but she grinned widely against Ryan's neck.

There was a deafening roar from the stadium as the cup was handed to Lynch. Harry was too busy staring at Lowe to notice until the last minute.

What was going on today?

* * *

Late in the night, Hermione had to take a breather from the tent. While she loved Quidditch, there were only so many times she could listen to replays of Krum's feint or Lowe's fall. Besides, it was a nice night out.

As she sat on a log out front, Hermione thought back to what Harry had said earlier. For some reason, Lowe reminded him of someone but he couldn't remember who. In that instance at least, she had no idea who it could be; the glamor charms had managed to stick the whole time.

The possibility had come to her that those were her real features, but the thought was dismissed almost instantly. There was no way a woman could look half her age without glamor charms or plastic surgery.

Only when Cedric's voice greeted her did Hermione pull out of her thoughts. "Hey Granger," he had said with a crooked grin, standing across the fire from her.

"Diggory," she returned with a small smile. Hopefully the fire light disguised the light blush that crept over her cheeks.

Just his presence inspired it, but the fire light made Cedric look irresistible. The way the glow warmed his skin and made shadows flicker about his face was mesmerizing, all while his eyes sparkled. It was unfair how drop-dead gorgeous he was, no pun intended.

The memory of her dreams made Hermione's smile falter. If this boy was real after all, what about the rest of the dream...? She forced her thoughts aside when she saw him open his mouth.

"That was some match, wasn't it?" Cedric asked softly, hands casually in his pockets, "Especially the last ten minutes."

Hermione nodded, remembering easily. "I was honestly terrified for Lowe," she admitted, "It's a miracle her back wasn't broken." Having Harry for a friend guaranteed that she knew many ways to get injured or killed.

"Lucky witch," he mused, almost to himself, "That definitely hurt and knocked the breath out of her, but I don't understand why she fainted." He frowned down at the fire pit, obviously trying to figure it out.

"I remember one time that I was playing King of the Hill," Hermione thought out loud, a small smile on her face at the fond memory, "It was one of the few times I've ever played with other kids, and I was having so much fun. I was standing on the log on top of the hill when it started rolling."

Cedric looked genuinely interested, head cocked to the side. "Go on," he urged, the corner of his lips tilted up.

"Well I hadn't expected that, so I fell," Hermione sighed and shook her head, though her smile slid off slowly, "A rock dug into my back right between my shoulders and it was like someone had cut off all control of my lungs because I couldn't breathe, no matter how hard I tried. It was probably about three minutes before I started again, but it hurt for the rest of the day. One of the scariest moments of my life before I came to Hogwarts."

Feeling rather stupid and self-absorbed, she ended the story shortly. Somewhere in the middle of her story, Hermione had managed to forget exactly why she was telling him this. It felt natural.

"The Bludger hit her right between the shoulders," Cedric provided, his eyebrows raising slightly at the conclusion, "Definitely harder than that rock got you."

"So it probably... I guess paralyzed her lungs...? longer," Hermione finished, "And no matter how we say it, she's lucky to be here." She gave him a small smile, grateful for his perceptiveness.

There was a strange look in Cedric's eyes as he gazed at her. "Walk with me?" he asked, tilting his head toward the other tents.

Surprised, she searched his features. "I'll... let Mr. Weasley know," Hermione answered awkwardly upon deciding that he was being honest, "Just us?" When she saw him nod, she stuck her head into the tent and called, "I'm going on a walk. I'll be back soon."

Mr. Weasley nodded, telling her, "Be careful, don't wander far." Everyone else didn't seem to hear her and kept at whatever they were doing.

That duty done, Hermione wiped the imaginary dust from the back of her thighs and nodded. "Where to?" she asked softly, circling the fire to stand in front of Cedric.

He shrugged, the natural flush on his cheeks darkening slightly. "I didn't think quite that far," he admitted sheepishly, "Maybe around the campsite?"

"Alright," Hermione agreed, after giving him a strange look. The day kept getting weirder and weirder...

The parties were winding down, so their walk was mainly unimpeded as they traversed the camp ground in silence. A few times they were given strange looks and at one point a drunk party goer tried to paw up Hermione, but he was shoved away quickly.

After about ten minutes they ran into Oliver Wood, but thankfully he was too tired and tipsy to be his normal fanatic self. "No defilin' mah wee sparrow, Diggory," he teased, ruffling Hermione's hair. His stance was a little unsteady and his accent was a little thicker than usual, but at least he wasn't completely sodding drunk.

Cedric and Hermione shared a confused look. "I won't?" the Hufflepuff offered unsurely.

Seemingly satisfied, Oliver dropped a kiss on Hermione's forehead before he ambled off. Right up until he was out of sight, he kept looking over his shoulder and mouthing something at them.

Hermione smiled and waved, trying to not laugh. Once he was out of sight though, she let loose until she was clutching a stitch in her side. "I can't believe it!" she giggled, trying to be quiet about it and failing, "It's true!"

Cocking his head to the side, Cedric appeared lost. "What...?" he asked, looking from where Oliver disappeared to Hermione and back.

"There was a rumor last year about Oliver getting possessive when he drinks," Hermione explained, slowly straightening up, "It seems like it's true." Her cheeks hurt from smiling so much.

At that, Cedric let out a snort. "Even without alcohol, he's possessive," he told her drolly, "Have you ever seen the glare he gives anyone else who books the school pitch?"

Still feeling a little giddy, Hermione let out another giggle. "Not to mention during the game," she added, smirking, "It's like he's having a long-term love affair with the quaffle!"

That was when Hermione felt arms wrap around her and a chin rest on her shoulder. "Hermione... yeh should come to bed," whined one Oliver Wood, who had somehow sneaked up on them. He pulled her against his chest tightly.

It only took that one sentence for Hermione to turn the color of Ron's hair. "Um, uh..." she stuttered, her humor gone instantly, "W-why don't you go to bed alone tonight?" She cast a pleading look at Cedric, wondering how she would get out of this one without Oliver getting hurt.

The Hufflepuff didn't look amused in the least. "You're drunk Wood," he told the older boy flatly, "I think you should go to bed alone tonight."

"No' withou' mah Hermione," Oliver replied in an almost sing-song voice, "And yeh're no' allowed to join us!"

They were spared the need for a very awkward reply by a blasting sound. It echoed from near the Weasleys' tent, to Hermione's horror. "What's going on?" she questioned, stiff in Oliver's arms as more bangs and blasts followed.

"It doesn't sound good," Cedric replied grimly, eyes drawn toward the noises, "We should get away."

"But the Weasleys-" Hermione protested, trying to move out of Oliver's arms. They tightened around her, leaving her struggling.

"They'll be fine," the Gryffindor Quidditch captain told her surely. He started to draw her away from the disturbance, her attempts at wriggling away seeming like nothing to him.

Screams began right then, and four bodies ascended into the air. Mr. Roberts, the muggle campsite manager, was easily recognizable and the other three seemed to be his family, a woman and two children. People were starting to scurry out of tents and away from the blasting, panicking and screaming.

Now Hermione could easily see the cause of the explosions and panic, people dressed in ominous hoods and skull masks. They moved in a large group, blasting apart tents and throwing spells at those running away while laughing madly.

Hermione was rooted to the spot in horror. Those masks, she had read about them... Death Eaters, the followers of Voldemort. 'But Voldemort is dead!' she mentally screamed, unable to tear her eyes from the sight that should have been impossible.

"Move!" Cedric roared, grabbing her hand. He hauled her and Oliver a short way to the left, before realizing that more cloaked figures were coming from that way.

A look to the right revealed the same thing. Obviously having reached the same conclusion, Oliver and Cedric pulled her by the hands to the only possible way out that they saw: straight ahead. Despite having much shorter legs than the boys, fear gave Hermione the wings to keep up with them; there was no way she would allow herself to be caught. It would be certain humiliation, if not death.

A bandy legged man to the side of them popped out of existence with a loud crack. Hermione's eyes went wide with realization. "Can you apparate?" she yelled to Cedric over the noise around them.

"What?" he yelled back, leading them determinedly on.

"Apparition, yeh ijiot!" Oliver reiterated louder, "I can't, I'm drunk!" His hand clenched Hermione's harder, threading their fingers together securely.

"No license!" Cedric returned, voice higher pitched than usual.

"Ah shite," Oliver cursed, looking down at Hermione briefly.

She tried to smile up at him, but the pain of a stitch starting in her side made it more of a grimace. It was glaringly obvious that physical activity wasn't her thing, she was sweating and panting already. If she stopped running, she was sure that she wouldn't be able to start again.

It seemed that Cedric got the message when he looked over at them. "Here goes nothing!" he muttered, pulling them to a stop.

Face hard, Oliver reached over and put his hand on the other boy's shoulder. He glanced over Hermione's shoulder. "Cedric..." he called, eyes widening.

The chanting grew ever louder; the Death Eaters were still coming.

Cedric turned on his heel and suddenly Hermione was being squeezed through a super-tight rubber tube. Everything in her vision was black and she couldn't breathe, like there was an iron band around her chest. Just as she was afraid that she'd pass out, the feeling was gone.

When Hermione looked around, blinking harshly against the shock of her sight returning, she rather liked the view. The path she stood on led to a stone cottage with unusual but peaceful curved lines and large windows, which had dim light filtering through them. There was a small front garden around them, but at the moment Hermione didn't pay attention to it; her knees were shaking with the relief of being safe.

Almost as soon as she had that realization, she felt terrified for Harry, Ron and the Weasleys. "What about your parents?" Hermione blurted out, "And Harry and-"

"Mum will floo-call Mrs. Weasley the moment we get in," Cedric replied quietly, tugging Hermione and Oliver toward the door. He opened it without a sound, before he called, "Mum! It's me!"

"Cedric?" a middle aged woman questioned, hurrying out of a large sitting room, "You're early! What happened?" Her blue eyes peered worriedly out of a face startlingly like Cedric's at. "Where's your father?" she asked, "And who are our guests?"

"This is Oliver Wood and Hermione Granger," Cedric responded, shoulders slumping with relief, "We need to get a hold of Mrs. Weasley, there's been an attack at the campsite. We just managed to get out."

Mrs. Diggory paled drastically, before ushering her guests farther in. She closed the door after them, wringing her hands all the while. "I'll floo-call Molly, come with me," she instructed them, pacing quickly past a large dining area and back into the sitting room.

It was only when the three sat down on the couch that Hermione realized the boys were still holding her hands. She tried pulling them free, but both simply laced their fingers with hers tighter. She gave in and squeezed back, comforted by the knowledge that she wasn't alone.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Diggory tossed a handful of floo powder into the fireplace. She called, "The Burrow!" before sticking her face into the green flames.

As the adrenaline stopped flowing into her system, Hermione found her eyelids drooping. According to the clock, it was past one in the morning.

The floo call wasn't even over when she fell asleep.

* * *

Be sure to review and tell me how I'm doing!

-Thrae


	2. Strange Awakenings

Author's Note: I've altered the time line a bit to make Oliver a seventh year while Harry, etc are in fourth. All other ages are still canon.

Disclaimer: I still don't own anything recognizable as being trademarked to J.K. Rowling... Dammit.

* * *

Chapter Two: Strange Awakenings

For the first time in weeks, Hermione didn't see Cedric's death behind her eyelids. Instead when she woke up in a cold sweat, it was after a nightmare of the riot. The memory made her shiver.

An arm tightened around her hips, and her mind went blank. 'What the...' she thought, eyes popping open immediately. She was face to face with Cedric Diggory, and a look out the corner of her eye showed that Oliver Wood was nuzzling into the curve of her shoulder. For a moment she wondered what alternate reality she had stumbled into, before everything came back to her.

Gradually, Hermione relaxed. 'I'm safe,' she told herself, 'They can't hurt me here. Cedric is alive, we're at his house, everything is fine.'

Except that everything was better than fine, it was spectacular. Sure, it would be very awkward when they woke up, but in that moment Hermione allowed herself to luxuriate in the feeling of security they gave her. It was entirely new and possibly addicting.

The thought of Ginny's face if she ever found out made her smile, but she was quick to resolve that this would be kept to herself. More would be read into it than there was.

Wide awake now, Hermione raised her right hand. She hesitated for a moment, just watching Cedric sleep soundly, before she swept his hair out of his eyes. It was very smooth, something she envied him tremendously for.

Less hesitantly, she reached behind her and fingered Oliver's shorter hair. It wasn't exactly smooth but very soft between her fingers, like down. Secretly, she'd always wondered what it felt like and a pleased smile came to her lips at knowing.

Although she was nowhere near done investigating, Hermione forced her arm to drop back onto her side. It would be more than a little creepy if they woke up to anything else. As it was, they were all in for a very interesting wake up.

Their combined body heat and the comforting motions of the boys' breathing lulled Hermione back into a doze. It could have been ten minutes or an hour for all she knew before either began to stir. Oliver came into awareness first, from the stiffening of his body behind hers.

"Morning," she mumbled sleepily. Without much thought to it, she curled farther back into him although she kept a grip on Cedric's arm at her waist.

Oliver relaxed again, though his fingers began to trace little circular patterns on the front of her hip. "I always wondered what this would be like," he mused.

"Hm?" hummed Hermione, raising an eyebrow. That he couldn't see the gesture didn't matter, it was the concept.

"Wakin' up with a bonny girl in my arms," Oliver murmured, his warm breath making Hermione shiver as it hit her exposed collarbone, "I could get used to this." Chances were that he was still half asleep or tipsy; she was sure that he would never say anything like this when fully awake.

"Not happening, Wood," Cedric unexpectedly put in, eyes still closed, "At least not on my damn bed."

Between the two, Hermione rolled her eyes. It was better than the awkwardness that she had expected, but still. 'Boys,' she mentally huffed.

They settled down again, none wanting to get up yet. From the sparse light coming in under the curtains, it was barely dawn.

Unfortunately, it was right as the three were dozing again that the door burst open. "Cedric, my-" it was Mr. Diggory who burst in and fell silent just as fast.

Behind Hermione, Oliver tensed dramatically. His hold on her hip tightened and he dragged her closer, curling around her protectively. It was impossible to not feel his breathing speed up nervously against her neck.

Thee young witch refused to open her eyes, instead curling up tighter. 'Go away,' Hermione chanted in her mind, 'Go away, go away, go away...'

"It's barely even sunrise, Dad," Cedric mumbled, "Give us a couple more hours." He didn't seem bothered at all by what had just happened, implying that it did often. Somehow, the thought was disappointing to Hermione.

The door closed again and they were left in peace for a while longer. Hermione relaxed again and Oliver resumed tracing invisible patterns on her hip. In an unexpected move, Cedric pulled himself closer until he was able to tuck Hermione's head under his chin and Oliver had to lay his hand flat to avoid bumping him.

Although they were only laying under a sheet, Hermione began to feel overheated. "Just a second," she sighed, lifting her top half up to take off her sweater. She tossed it to the floor thoughtlessly and snuggled back into the gap between the boys.

Only when Cedric's hand resumed its place on her waist did she realize that she hadn't worn a shirt under that sweater. Automatically her cheeks turned pink, but Hermione resolutely ignored the part of her brain that screamed at her to cover up. If they had a problem with it, they could say so.

Neither said anything, and Hermione fell back to sleep.

* * *

Waking up was again not awkward, although Cedric was gone. The space on the bed in front of Hermione felt empty, but she ridiculed herself for the thought. It wasn't like she was used to sharing a bed, after all.

Oliver was still curled around her, offsetting the cool of the room like a human furnace. It was nice, even with his breath rolling her curls back and forth across her shoulder. The other side of the bed still felt empty.

With a sigh, Hermione resigned herself to it. 'It's probably because I woke up with him there last time,' she thought, absently laying her hand over Oliver's where it rested on her hip, 'Plus, it's probably his bed...'

A look around the room showed that it was practical, tidy and a little boring. The desk was neat and the walls were pale blue, while a tall and narrow bookshelf was partially filled with everything from Quidditch awards to books to framed photos. There were Puddlemere United and Holyhead Harpies posters up, but nothing else noteworthy in the room other than the dark blue blanket they had kicked to the floor.

After her perusal of Cedric's room was finished, she decided that she may as well get up. If she knew herself at all, she would be tempted to snoop otherwise.

Delicately she lifted Oliver's hand up and rolled away slightly before setting it back down on the mattress. As quietly as possible she got off the bed and tiptoed over the wooden floor to where she saw her sweater, praying that Mr. Diggory wouldn't bound in again.

Instead, Oliver commented sleepily, "I rather like this view."

Hermione shot upward from where she had been bending over to pick up her sweater, covering her chest modestly. She leveled a glare at him, though the red in her cheeks probably detracted tremendously from it. "Pervert," she accused lowly.

"Hormonal teenage boy," Oliver corrected her, stretching out across the bed.

"What's the difference?" returned Hermione dryly, putting on her sweater as quickly as possible. It wasn't that she didn't like the attention Oliver was showing her, it was just so strange to the girl who had always been "one of the guys."

"Yeh wound me," Oliver told her dramatically, playfully swooning back onto the bed.

Hermione couldn't help smiling as she sighed. "You'll live," she commented on her way out of the room. Once she closed the door behind her, she allowed herself a light laugh; this was exactly what she needed after the events of last night.

As she had expected, Hermione found Cedric eating with his parents. They were in a nook right off of the kitchen however, a good deal less intimidating than the more formal dining room table by the door. They didn't seem to have noticed that Hermione was up and continued eating, not speaking much.

"Hello," she said softly, avoiding Mr. Diggory's gaze with residual embarrassment.

Mr. Diggory gave her an appraising look, while Mrs. Diggory smiled warmly. "Don't worry," Cedric's mother told her kindly, "Cedric and I explained everything. No one wants to sleep alone after the fright you all took last night."

No matter how true it was, Hermione still blushed at the reminder. Gingerly she sat down on the bench beside Cedric, not sure what to do with herself now. It felt like she was intruding.

With far less apprehension than the witch, Oliver squished onto the bench beside her. "Good morning Mr. and Mrs. Diggory," he greeted them cheerfully.

"How did you both sleep?" asked Mrs. Diggory with a soft smile, summoning two plates. They landed in front of Oliver and Hermione, gleaming cleanly.

"Perfectly well, thank you," the young witch answered politely, setting small portions of everything on her plate.

To her left, Oliver wasn't quite so delicate about things. He piled his plate high before digging in with relish, although thankfully he didn't pull a Ron and try to stuff everything in his mouth at the same time. "Aye," he agreed after a bite, "Thank yeh for lettin' us stay the night."

Breakfast progressed tamely and without much chatter. The Daily Prophet laid on the table in front of Mr. Diggory, but Hermione didn't feel the need to peruse it- she would hear the details soon enough anyway. Her stomach churned at the thought that Harry and Ron had been in the middle of the mess.

As the meal wore on, she began to feel remarkably comfortable there. It was like she belonged with them at that table, squished between two boys she had never had much contact with before last night.

The notion startled her. "I should get going," she blurted out, "The Weasleys are probably worried about me."

"I'll go with yeh," Oliver volunteered quickly, "I want to get a head start on Quidditch trainin'." His oaken eyes gleamed at the prospect of his passion.

On Hermione's other side, Cedric snorted, "You really are obsessed!"

While the boys bantered over the young witch's head, she sighed and shook her head with an indulgent smile. Mr. Diggory seemed to be observing everything they did carefully, unusually quiet, while his wife winked mischievously at Hermione. She seemed to be used to this behavior.

They all moved into the parlor once Mrs. Diggory banished their empty plates into the kitchen. The debate died down, leaving the teens looking at each other not quite awkwardly. "I'll see you at school," Cedric said with a small smile, offering Hermione the pot of sparkling floo powder.

"I hope so," she returned fondly, "I just realized that I didn't thank you for getting me out off there. So thank you." She took a handful of the sparkling powder and threw it in the fireplace, watching the flames turn green before she stepped in.

A pang went through Hermione's chest as she looked at the Diggorys and Oliver. Somehow, she didn't want to leave. "The Burrow!" she called clearly before she could change her mind.

As many grates passed by almost faster than she could count, she tried to clear her mind of the care she felt welling up for them. It was useless, she reasoned, since she would very likely go back to being a perfect stranger to Cedric by the time school started again. Before the traitorous portion of her mind could come up with a reply to that thought, she was being regurgitated into the Weasleys' sitting room.

Coughing, she shakily got to her feet in front of the hearth. Then a body hurled into her from the hearth, sending her back to the floor. "Oof!" she grunted, ribs aching from the rough landing.

"Sorry, sparrow," Oliver apologized, rolling off of her quickly, "I didn't hurt yeh, did I?"

Before Hermione could reply, she heard Mrs. Weasley shriek delightedly. "Oh, thank goodness you're alright!" the matron fussed, rushing in from the kitchen to scoop her into a hug, "The boys were so worried when they couldn't find you, Ron nearly had a conniption and I was-"

"You'd best let her breathe, dear," suggested Mr. Weasley mildly from the doorway. He looked like he had aged a year from the last time Hermione had seen him, the circles under his eyes dark and his face pale. The expression he had was one relieved of a great burden however, and he smiled weakly.

Hermione heard Oliver shift nervously where he stood behind her. "Hello, Mr. Weasley," he greeted them politely, "Mrs. Weasley. Could you tell me where the twins are?"

Mrs. Weasley released Hermione to wrap her arms briefly around Oliver. "The kids are all in the back playing Quidditch," she told him, smiling warmly, "Hermione will show you where, won't you dear?" She gave the younger witch an expectant look.

Hermione nodded, relieved. If something had happened to any of her friends, Mrs. Weasley wouldn't have been so cheerful. "Of course," she returned with a small smile. Without any thought to it, she took Oliver's hand to lead him through the Burrow.

When she was about to pass by Mr. Weasley, he stopped her to give her a short hug. "I was worried about you," he said, looking down at her fondly, before shifting his focus to Oliver, "Thank you for keeping her safe last night, Oliver. We owe you a great deal." He offered his hand genially.

Although Oliver shook Mr. Weasley's hand, he denied, "It was all Cedric. He saved both of us." He released the red head's hand, but gave Hermione's a squeeze.

Warmth blossomed in her chest at the gesture. It obviously wasn't just her who felt that something had drastically changed since last night. There was a bond between her, Cedric and Oliver now.

They exited the house without further incident. Hermione hummed to herself, enjoying being in the place that had become a second home to her so easily. That she was still holding Oliver's hand didn't bother her, it felt natural.

Only when they came within sight of the home made pitch did Hermione drop his hand. If she looked to her side, she would have noticed the brief flash of hurt in Oliver's eyes. But she didn't, instead running to embrace her friends.

It was obvious that day that things had changed. Hermione tried to shake her head at her friends' antics and get snappy when her reading was interrupted. She attempted to deny that anything was different than before.

Most of all she struggled to not look at Oliver Wood, because he was a poignant reminder that it was.

* * *

By the first of September, Hermione was about to scream in frustration. While her sleep hadn't been the best since the Cedric nightmares had started, it was manageable before. She wasn't the best rested, but she was able to grab a good six and a half to seven hours each night.

Since the World Cup however, it had been nearly impossible to sleep more than three. The Cedric nightmares alternated with those of the World Cup, and she felt lonely whenever she laid down on the trundle bed in Ginny's room. Somehow in the space of one night, she had become accustomed to having Cedric and Oliver wrapped around her as she slept.

Irritated, Hermione hoped that they were having as much trouble as she was. It would only be fair.

Everyone but the twins and Harry had begun asking after her health by the end of August or shooting her worried looks. Even Mr. Weasley had tried to wheedle information out of her about what was wrong, most likely on his wife's orders. As nice as it was for them to show concern, Hermione simply smiled and lied through her teeth that she was fine.

'How would I even try to say what's really bothering me?' she asked herself, running through the barrier to Platform 9 ¾ without any thought to it, 'I can see it now: "Well, you see, I've been having nightmares of Cedric Diggory's death since before I even met him and they like to alternate with more nightmares about the riot at the World Cup. Not to mention that I slept in his bed with him and Oliver Wood and now I can't sleep without them, but don't worry, I'm perfectly fine!" Sure, that would work out fine and dandy.'

As Hermione helped look for an empty compartment, her mind was barely on the task at hand. So it was that she was knocked on her butt when she ran into a very solid male chest. She glared, prepared a snappish comment, but when she saw his face, all the fight fled from her.

"Fancy running into you again so soon," Cedric Diggory grinned, offering a hand to help her up, "No pun intended, of course."

Hermione took the offered help graciously, releasing his hand as soon as she was steady on her feet. "I can't stop laughing," she commented dryly, looking around for her friends. They had moved farther down the corridor, still checking compartments.

When her eyes returned her gaze to Cedric, Hermione blushed heavily. He was giving her that _look_, like Viktor Krum had at the World Cup. She looked down at her feet, shuffling them awkwardly as she tried to ignore the funny feeling in her stomach.

"You'd best catch up with them," Cedric suggested softly, "They might worry."

Hermione nodded, not looking up from the oh-so-interesting flooring. "I'll see you around," she dismissed herself, before practically running to rejoin her friends.

"Where were you?" asked Ginny, exasperated as she looked into yet another compartment, "We thought Malfoy might have gotten you or something." Upon seeing that it was occupied already, she closed the door loudly.

"I ran into a friend," Hermione answered vaguely.

The rest of the journey was pretty much as expected. They found a compartment, in which Ginny, Ron and Harry played exploding snap and Hermione gave the appearance of reading. Not much was said aside of the usual debate about what the Defense teacher would be like this year, or trading chocolate frog cards after the snack trolley went by. Malfoy came by to taunt them of course, but that was normal as well by now.

Only when they filed into the hall did something of note happen- Oliver took a seat beside Hermione instead of the Chasers down the table. "Hello all," he greeted Harry and Ron airily, extending his long legs under the table. To Hermione, he smiled and told her fondly, "Hello, wee sparrow."

Across the table, Harry raised an eyebrow. "You know each other well?" he asked, looking from Hermione to Oliver and back.

"Not well," Hermione corrected, "We both stayed with Cedric after the riot at the Cup." She subtly shifted a little further away from Oliver so that his thigh wasn't brushing hers anymore.

"Don't tell me you're a fan girl of the Golden Boy," Ron groaned.

Hermione felt her neck heat up in the beginnings of an angry blush. 'Calm,' she told herself, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, 'I am calm, I am relaxed, I am poised, I will not shout at Ronald for his rudeness...'

Unexpectedly, Oliver cut into the conversation. "I think Hermione has more sense than that," he assured the red head somewhat coolly, before changing the subject to the travesty of Quidditch being cancelled.

Sufficiently calm, Hermione opened her eyes. Under the table she reached for the hand that was laying on Oliver's lap and gave it a squeeze, silently thanking him.

Oliver gripped her hand back tightly. He got the message.

When the doors of the hall burst open near the end of the feast, there was a collective gasp. The whole hall was obviously startled, but Oliver's reaction was as extreme as his love of Quidditch: he whipped out his wand and pulled Hermione as far behind him as possible without unseating her. Only when Dumbledore invited the stranger to sit down did the Gryffindor captain relax, putting his wand back in his sleeve carefully.

Luckily, no one seemed to notice the oddity of Oliver's reaction. They were all too busy staring at the man who had just been introduced as Professor Moody, and Hermione could see why. He had to be the most frightening looking person she had ever laid eyes on, scarred and mutilated.

Even when he sat down, there were still more chairs empty. One was explained by Dumbledore, who continued his speech as if nothing had happened, "Due to personal troubles, Professor Trelawney is cutting back to teaching only sixth and seventh year."

Across from Hermione, Harry grinned widely. Ron looked like he had died and gone to heaven. On the other hand, Oliver groaned loudly and buried his face in his hands. From the sounds of it, he was cursing his rotten luck that the new professor wasn't handling the older years instead.

Not for the first time, Hermione felt immensely superior about her choice in classes. The whole idea of divination as an academic subject was barmy, not to mention that the idea of a second Trelawney residing in the castle was horrifying. One was far more than enough.

"Our new professor had personal matters to attend to tonight, but you can be sure that she will be in time for your classes tomorrow," Dumbledore assured them, his eyes sparkling behind his glasses. It gave the illusion that he was laughing at a joke no one else got, which always frustrated Hermione.

The highlight of the year was revealed soon after- the mysterious event being revealed that had been hinted at all summer by Mr. Weasley, Bill, Charlie and Percy. The Triwizard Tournament, the most dangerous piece of entertainment that Hermione had ever heard of, was being revived. The horrible thought that Harry would be in it was squashed quickly when Dumbledore mentioned an age restriction, and she almost let out a sigh of relief.

Then she noticed the thoughtful look on Oliver's face and the fear came back full force. It made no sense that Hermione would be so afraid for him. It wasn't like he was the one whose death she saw behind her eyelids so often...

A look over at the Hufflepuff table made her pale drastically. Cedric had a conspiring gleam in his eye that she could see the whole way across the hall as Dumbledore continued his explanation about the tournament. Dread made Hermione regret eating so much, she felt sick with apprehension.

Taking deep breaths, she closed her eyes to try to calm herself again. Instead, the image of Cedric's corpse haunted her with its lifeless grey eyes staring right at her, into her, accusing her-

A hand, Oliver's hand, took hers. "Are yeh alright?" he inquired barely loudly enough to be heard over the mutterings of discontent. His thumb stroked the back of her hand soothingly.

"I'll be fine," Hermione tried to assure him, although she wasn't so certain herself, "It's just that something crazy happens to Harry every year and this sounds likely to be this year's fiasco. But with Dumbledore's precautions, it should be fine." She was careful to not tell a complete lie; she had the feeling that Oliver would see straight through one of those.

"It will be," Oliver agreed solidly, before mentioning, "I think I might fancy enterin', though, and it looks like Cedric does as well." He gestured to the Hufflepuff table, where Cedric still bore that look that made Hermione sick with fear.

It seemed that Cedric noticed something was up, because he was staring straight at her and Oliver. His forehead was creased in a frown and he cocked his head to the side, obviously questioning. "What's wrong?" he seemed to be asking.

Great effort on Hermione's part produced only a pained grimace. Never before had she felt quite so helpless, and unfortunately only two people might be able to help her- Trelawney and her new cohort.

This year was off to a terrible start already.

* * *

Will write for reviews.


	3. Moira Lowe

Note: No, Hermione doesn't have her house-elf thing going on. As she didn't see Winky be mistreated by Amos Diggory, she doesn't have the idea that they need to be defended.

Disclaimer: I own nothing that is under trademark. I own only Moira Lowe.

* * *

Chapter Three: Moira Lowe

The second day of September dawned clear, a big change from the gale force winds and relentless rain of the day before. It would have been rather enjoyable actually, had Hermione bothered to pay attention to it.

Instead, she was stalking down the corridors to the great hall with determination blazing and one goal in mind: see if the new divination professor seemed any more reliable than Trelawney. If so, she would find her after class. If not, her next aim was the library.

Yet again, she had been accosted by the Cedric nightmare. However, instead of falling into a pit of helplessness like last night, she had pursed her lips and resolved to solve this mystery. Whether it was the result of a weird fixation on him or (Merlin forbid) a prophetic dream, Hermione Granger would get to the bottom of it!

She took no conscious notice of anything right up until she entered the great hall. Even then it was only to scan the staff table for a new face, but her attention went right back out the window when she found it. There had to be a very good explanation for this.

Beside Snape, glamor charms still on, sat Moira Lowe. Her wavy hair nearly blended in with what seemed to be a turtle neck sweater beneath her equally black robes, spilling over her shoulders unhindered. From the look on her face she was completely at ease, examining the hall with cool grey eyes.

Then her eyes met Hermione's across the great hall. The young witch didn't release eye contact, curious about the interest Lowe took in her. Her mind was whirring a mile a minute and she was starting to get a headache, but she didn't break eye contact.

The new professor allowed the corner of her mouth to curl up and she nodded subtly, before turning her gaze to Snape. At the same time as they began speaking, someone tapped Hermione on the shoulder.

She jumped, having forgotten that she was standing right in the doorway. "Sorry, I'll get out of the way," Hermione muttered, flushing pink. Her heart was still racing from the shock as she tried to step out of the way.

Instead, a hand caught her wrist. "You alright, Hermione?" asked Cedric from behind her.

Feeling marginally better, Hermione turned around and smiled weakly. "Headache," she told him, rubbing the bridge of her nose with her free hand.

"It's too early in the school year to work yourself that hard," Cedric teased, "Come on, some breakfast will help." He led her into the great hall by her wrist, turning right toward the Hufflepuff table.

"Uh, Cedric?" Hermione reminded him, "I'm a Gryffindor." Her eyes darted about and she tried to subtly tug her wrist loose.

The thought didn't deter Cedric. "And?" he shrugged, turning left at the nearer aisle beside the table. He released her wrist to slide into place at one of the long benches, patting the space beside him in invitation.

Rolling her eyes, Hermione stayed standing. "It's the first day," she huffed, "I need to be at my table to receive my schedule."

"It's still early," Cedric offered, "How about you stay here until your friends come in and then you sit with them? You know you want to." He winked mischievously.

It really wasn't fair how attractive he was, Hermione griped mentally even as she slid onto the bench beside him. She reached for a dish of scrambled eggs without a word, then bacon and toast.

Equally silent, Cedric filled his plate with porridge and english muffins. Only when he had slathered butter and honey on both did he pay any attention to Hermione, with a slight frown. "You look tired," he observed, "Haven't been sleeping well?"

"No," Hermione admitted, shaking her head, "Not since the World Cup." She took a sip of her pumpkin juice.

Understandingly, Cedric nodded. "I haven't since that night," he told her quietly, obviously wishing to not be overheard, "Makes me wish I had nightmares, at least then I'd get some sleep."

When Hermione took a more thorough look at him, she saw what he was talking about. The calling card of sleeplessness was harder to identify, but the abnormal paleness and lack of animation on his face said everything. The circles under his eyes were only beginning, but soon enough they would look like bruises, she was sure.

"You can hardly tell," Hermione returned, a little envious, "I'm sure you'll get around to sleeping again soon. Just give yourself some time." She omitted that she had felt the exact same emptiness in her bed.

"Thanks," Cedric said, squeezing her hand where it laid on the table. His Quidditch calloused hand was warm and dry on hers, and somehow it felt right to be there. Reluctantly, he pulled away.

His timing was perfect, as Oliver joined them right then. "Mornin' love birds," he teased, smirking. Despite his seemingly cheerful countenance, it was extremely obvious that he hadn't been sleeping well either.

"You look horrible," Cedric stated baldly, raising an eyebrow.

"Look in a mirror," Oliver retorted easily, before turning to Hermione, "And no offense, but yeh don't look your best either, sparrow." His warm brown eyes roved her face with concern, lingering just a little below her eye level.

"Let's be blunt, we've all had trouble sleeping since the World Cup," Cedric stated, bringing his goblet to his lips. Once he wiped his lips with a napkin, he continued, "Now what to do about it, is the question."

The unlikely trio stared at each other awkwardly as the great hall filled up around them. One possible solution was obvious, at least to Hermione. Her cheeks burned red at the mere memory of the last time they fell asleep together.

Two very recognizable boys walked into the room, Hermione's saving graces. "Harry and Ron are here," she told her current companions, "I'll see you later." She gave Cedric and Oliver a small smile before she hurried away.

"What were you doing over there?" asked Harry, nodding to the general area she had come from.

It took a few seconds for Hermione to gather herself. "Talking to a couple of friends," she replied breezily, before asking, "Do you now what classes you have this year?"

At their groans, she mentally smiled. 'Now time for things to go as they should,' she thought.

If she had looked back at the Hufflepuff table, she would have seen two sets of eyes watching her right up until she sat down.

* * *

With the flurry of classes (including the completely out of line lesson from Moody), Hermione was unable to find time for Lowe within the first week.

Having said that, she managed to have a great amount of time for thinking of quidditch. Or rather, thinking about two certain captains. It was hard to not think of them when they seemed to be everywhere she turned.

Between classes, they would exchange waves, smiles or a respectful, "Hello." One or the other had a tendency to be in the library every time she was in there, although not nearly as long. Even during meals, Hermione would be pulled over to the Hufflepuff table until Harry and Ron came in. By the time the weekend rolled around, it was beginning to get ridiculous.

On Sunday morning, Hermione was half-asleep on her favorite armchair by the fire. It had been a crazy week, she reflected, staring hazily into the flames. A throw rug over her legs, she had the brief thought of falling asleep there.

Then Oliver's voice whispered near her ear, "Hello sparrow."

Hermione jumped around in the armchair to face the Keeper. "Godric's bones!" she hissed, "Are you trying to kill me?" She laid a hand over her heart, willing it to slow down.

"Never," he declared with a lopsided grin. He circled the chair and plopped down on the arm rest casually.

"This reminds me," Hermione questioned, eyes narrowing, "It seems an awful lot like you and Cedric are stalking me."

Oliver looked unperturbed. "I'd been thinkin' the same thing about yeh and him," he mused, before teasing, "So it's Cedric, huh? Rather familiar."

It was horrible how quickly Hermione turned red at the implication. "I'd think that sleeping next to someone gives them certain privileges," she spluttered, "You nicknamed me, after all!" From the feel of her face, someone could probably cook an egg on it.

Still, Oliver simply looked mischievous. "That came about before the riot, I believe," he corrected her airily.

"When you were drunk!" Hermione exclaimed, exasperated. She threw her hands up, barely missing Oliver's shoulder with one.

"When did this conversation get serious?" Oliver asked, frowning slightly as he tilted his gaze upward and to the right.

Hermione didn't answer the rhetorical question. Instead, she found herself rather captivated by one Oliver Wood. While he was in his element on a broom, he appeared completely at ease sitting there beside the fire with her, a girl he had never really paid attention to before the Cup. In the dim daylight streaming in the windows, his face appeared softer than usual and his short hair had golden highlights. His eyes were the most mesmerizing however, the irises flickering reddish with reflected fire light.

The mischief in his eyes was back and they were centered on Hermione again. "If just sleepin' breeds familiarity, what do I get fer seein' yeh in yer bra?" he asked cheekily.

Hermione rolled her eyes and refused to dignify that with an answer. "I'm heading to breakfast now," she announced, pulling on her snootiest voice, "And if you'll please stop following me around, I'd appreciate it." She got up and took a step, but her wrist was grabbed before she could go far.

"I haven't been doin' it on purpose, yeh know," Oliver told her, serious for once, "Yeh and Cedric just seem to be everywhere I go."

For a moment everything seemed to stop. The fire crackled in the background, but it went unnoticed as they stared each other in the eye. Hermione had to look down to keep eye contact, a strange feeling since he was a head taller when standing. His thumb had started making circular motions against her sensitive inner wrist.

Voices and heavy footsteps from the boys' dorm stairs broke them out of their moment. Flushing, Hermione realized how this would look from the outside and hastily pulled away. Schooling her features, she hurried out the portrait hole before Oliver could call her back.

To keep from running into anyone, Hermione even used some secret passages that she remembered from the Marauder's map. Only the Weasley twins ever frequented them, so she was left fairly well alone up to the time she stood outside the doors of the great hall. There, she paused for a moment.

"Ridiculous," she told herself, taking deep breaths with her eyes closed, "The whole situation is ridiculous. There is no such thing as a prophetic dream and I'm just going crazy from all the stress of the past few years. That's all. Nothing to worry about."

"Finally realized you're a nutter, Granger?" sneered the voice of Draco Malfoy from behind her.

Lips pressed into a thin line, Hermione opened her eyes and turned around. A reply was on the tip of her tongue, but she was beaten to the point.

"You say that like it's a bad thing, Malfoy," Cedric said to the Slytherin cheerfully, clapping him on the shoulder, "I like my witches a bit crazy." He gave the younger boy a charming smile as he passed.

Any expectations Hermione had were blown out of the water. She didn't even put up her token protest at being hauled to the Hufflepuff table, instead gaping at the sixth year's back. He was crazy. Even crazier than she was.

"So what had him calling you a nutter?" asked Cedric, once he seated himself.

Almost numbly, Hermione followed his lead. "I was talking to myself in the entrance hall," she snorted, shaking her head as she served herself some cornflakes, "I've been having strange dreams, so I'm a little off-kilter."

Pausing in getting his ritual porridge, Cedric raised an eyebrow. "Strange dreams like what?" he questioned calmly, setting down the ladle in favor of resting his jaw on his hand.

It was difficult to decide whether to tell him. On one hand, he was forewarned of his possible fate. On the other, this could completely screw everything up. In the end, Hermione picked both. "I've been having it nearly every night for about a month now," she said softly, after checking that no one was close enough to overhear, "Harry and... this boy in a Hufflepuff jersey are portkeyed into a graveyard by a trophy cup and a man carrying a baby comes out of a building, but it isn't a baby... It speaks in this horrible hissing voice and says to... kill the spare. So the man takes out his wand and performs the killing curse on the boy I don't know and everything spirals into black before I wake up."

"That's some nightmare," Cedric murmured, frowning, "Any idea who the boy is?" The idea obviously hadn't struck him that it could be him.

"I didn't recognize him," Hermione half-lied, "But at the same time, it was getting dark and foggy. I was lucky to figure out Harry was there despite knowing him for the past three years. I was more concerned about who the man was and where the graveyard was." She wasn't about to say that she could easily read their surnames on the backs of their shirts.

Oliver slid onto the bench in front of them. "Dreamin' of graveyards, eh?" he asked, eyebrows half way up his forehead as he grabbed toast from a rack, "Fear the unknown? Lookin' over discarded aspects of yerself? Mournin' somethin'?"

"What?" asked Cedric and Hermione together.

"We're coverin' dream interpretation in divination," Oliver shrugged, "Figured I may as well get some practice in. I can't remember the meanin's fer shite, usually."

"Divination is a load of tripe," Hermione hissed, going back to her plate, "No basis in fact, no reliability, no proof that it even exists." She stabbed a piece of sausage viciously before bringing it to her mouth.

The boys looked at each other over the table with amusement. "Yeh have a long way to go, sparrow," Oliver commented wryly, shaking his head as he took a bite out of the plain toast, "It's a highly respected art in the wizardin' world."

Thus, the argument began. Oliver was a believer (although not Trelawney's abilities), Hermione wrote off the entire subject and Cedric was somewhere in the middle. Sometimes two would gang up on the third, then alliances would shift, then they would be at a good old fashioned stale mate for a while before the cycle repeated itself.

It was remarkably easy to put the nightmare out of her head with them. Although Oliver was known as a quidditch nut, he wasn't brainless, and Cedric was rather sharp in addition to being a "pretty boy". In fact, their discussion was so good that Hermione forgot all about watching for Harry and Ron.

Only when the morning owls came in did she realize she probably missed them. "Darn!" she exclaimed, scanning the Gryffindor table for them. Once she saw them, she pouted; they were sure to ask annoying questions now.

"Potter and Weasley will be fine without you every now and again," Cedric assured her, breaking off the argument for the moment, "This just means we get you for the rest of breakfast!" He certainly looked cheerful at the thought, grey eyes sparkling.

"You're right," Hermione decided, smiling at him and Oliver.

An unfamiliar spotted owl greeted her then, dropping onto the edge of the table beside her. It held out a leg with a small note attached, watching Hermione with somewhat creepy black eyes. Frowning, she untied the paper and the owl flew off, obviously not needing a response.

When she unfolded the slip of parchment, it was a simple note in beautiful, ornate handwriting. Idly, Hermione mused that it looked like something from The Lord of the Rings. It read:

_Ms. Hermione Granger,_

_There is a certain dream you wish to discuss with me, I saw. Please meet me for tea this afternoon in my office, three o'clock sharp. We have much to discuss._

_My classroom is the second door on the right side in the back corridor of the ground floor. Once inside, tell the statue of the woman with the cup that I am expecting you. She will let you through._

_Best Regards,_

_Prof. Moira Lowe_

"How did she know?" Hermione whispered, eyes painfully wide as she reread the note a further three times, "I haven't... how?" She looked up to the staff table to see the former quidditch player talking with Professor Sprout, a charming smile on her face.

As if sensing attention on her, Lowe briefly swept the great hall with her eyes. Upon reaching the Hufflepuff table and Hermione, she winked before returning her full attention to Professor Sprout.

Hands were carefully prying the note from Hermione's hand. "Careful there, sparrow," Oliver cautioned her, once he had the parchment in his hand, "Yeh were about to rip it to pieces. What's upset yeh?" He had refolded the note and set it on the table between them.

"You're the first one I told about that dream," Hermione told Cedric, swallowing around the lump in her throat, "The only one so far, but somehow she knows!" She was about to throw a tizzy. Today wasn't working for her and it was only bound to get worse by tea time.

"What dream?" "Who knows?" Oliver and Cedric asked at the same time, although both frowned. In the Hufflepuff's expression there was a hint of incredulity however, as it had been under half an hour since she told him.

The story of the repeating nightmare was relayed to Oliver quickly. "And somehow Moira Lowe found out!" Hermione ended in a hiss, shooting a furtive look at the staff table.

The new divination teacher didn't pay any attention this time, and seemed to be daydreaming. Her grey eyes were glassy as she stared at the entry doors.

"I've heard that she's the real deal," Oliver shrugged, openly glancing at the subject of the conversation then back at Cedric and Hermione, "Nothin' like old Trelawney. That's got to count fer somethin', right?"

"Anybody is better than Trelawney, from what I've been told," grinned Cedric, "A bit round the twist, that one."

As the boys laughed and joked about the old bat, Hermione sat back and listened. She couldn't find the humor in the situation right then, as her mind was on turbo speed. How had Moira Lowe found out about her repetitive dream before she told anyone?

"Curiouser and curiouser," she mumbled to herself. Then Hermione mentally groaned and smacked herself, because anyone who absently quotes Alice in Wonderland had to have bats in the belfry.

This was going to be a long day.

* * *

Unfortunately, Hermione's prediction turned out to be right. It was impossible to do her homework in the common room, Madam Pince was in a bad mood and drove even her out, and Harry and Ron weren't helping matters.

"Binns' essay isn't due until Wednesday," Ron told her, setting down a card in the game of exploding snap he was playing, "We've got plenty of time."

As Harry had agreed with the redhead, Hermione was left to her own devices. In the end, she had simply curled up with a book and started reading in front of the fire.

It was difficult to concentrate on the words, however. Her mind was a whirlwind of confusion, dread, and denial. It wasn't all about her upcoming meeting with Lowe, either.

No, Hermione had boys on the brain. Two certain boys were clogging up her synapses, in fact: Oliver and Cedric. They were slowly but surely worming their way under her skin and she wanted it to stop. It wasn't anything specific, either, just them being themselves.

'This is not happening,' Hermione told herself firmly, even as she watched Oliver out of the corner of her eye, 'I am not growing feelings for anyone, especially not the school pretty boy and the quidditch nut. I refuse.'

She made sure to lock away the portion of her that was screaming, "But love is irrational!" because in the name of Merlin's baggiest Y-fronts, it wasn't love. Attachment, yes. Gratitude, definitely. Love, hell no.

The clock hit twenty til two, and Hermione sighed. "I'll be back," she called to Harry and Ron, stowing her book in a hidden niche off the fireplace.

"Where are you headed?" asked Harry, green eyes flickering up at her curiously.

"I've got to meet with a teacher," Hermione replied honestly, "I'll be back when it's over." To keep from being asked more questions, she hurried out the portrait hole.

As she wandered down the stairways and corridors, Hermione wondered. The back corridors were hardly ever used, the legend being that it contained the founders' chambers and only the descendents of the founders were granted access. Obviously this was a load of waffle.

So why were they practically abandoned for so many years and then given to a new teacher? Perhaps she had some specialized need that it fulfilled. Even Professor Lupin had occupied quarters in the more lively third floor, however.

It felt like only a few moments, but was most likely around fifteen before Hermione found herself staring down the ground level back corridor. It was oddly intimidating compared to the rest of the castle, the passage narrow and fairly short but dim and undecorated. On either side of her, the doors that had previously barred entrance hung open.

The thought struck that when she passed them, they would close behind her and trap her down there. It was pushed aside however. 'I'm being ridiculous,' Hermione snorted, 'Its just another corridor.' She slowly journeyed down the fairly short hall.

As Hermione passed the first door, a little voice in the back of her head snickered, "And the second floor bathroom is just a bathroom." It sounded strangely like Draco Malfoy, an unpleasant thought.

The second door's knob was strangely in the middle of the door and had the look of crystal. It was cool to the touch and the facets dug into her hand when Hermione opened it.

On the other side, the classroom was unusual. Like Trelawney's classroom, it had a number of small tables rather than rows of desks, but that was the only similarity Hermione could see. The tables all matched and the stools were black leather cubes, the front seats set about ten feet to the right of the teacher's desk. Behind the desk was an enormous blackboard, and perpendicular to the whole set up was a wall of huge bay windows. The floor length black velvet curtains were parted, letting in a great deal of natural light that shone off the polished oriental style cabinets lined up against the right wall.

What drew Hermione's interest the most were the four statues that stood in niches, two on each side of the classroom. Those closest to the door were wizards, one reedy and monkey-faced, wearing a necklace with a large pendant, and the other burly and bearded with a sword.

Driven partially by curiosity, Hermione closed the door behind her and carefully made her way further into the room. Her footsteps echoed against the stone walls and high roof of the room, giving her the shivers. Something about this room (really, about the entire hallway) was out of place.

Past the desks were the other two statues. One was a tall woman with long hair, wearing a tiara. If she weren't so intimidating, she could be considered very beautiful in Hermione's opinion. The last statue, the one on the left, was the one mentioned in the note: a plump woman with her hair held back, who bore a small cup in her hands.

"I'm here to see Professor Lowe," Hermione told the last statue, feeling a little crazy for speaking to it, "She's expecting me."

The statue turned around on her pedestal, revealing a spiral staircase that led upward. It reminded Hermione of Harry and Ron's description of going up to Dumbledore's office. With that thought in mind, she hurried up the staircase and around the statue until she reached a yellow door with another crystal doorknob in the center. She knocked loudly.

"Come in," Lowe called through the door.

Hermione turned the knob and stepped through the entry hesitantly. A groaning sound from behind her made her jump around however, showing that the staircase was winding itself back down into the floor around the statue. It left her on edge and slightly panicky, knowing she had no feasible way out.

"Don't worry about the staircase," Lowe told her, sounding rather amused, "When you next open the door, it will rise again." She was Welsh, her accent obvious now that she had spoken more than two words.

Carefully, Hermione closed the door. The click was oddly loud in the quiet room, as was the groan of leather and rustling of paper.

Lowe's office was styled much more lightly than she had expected. The large desk and small bistro set were a soft driftwood grey with glass tops and white cushions, while crystals and wind chimes sparkled where they hung from the ceiling. The fireplace took up a whole wall perpendicular to the desk, a furry white rug in front of it. It actually looked rather... serene.

"Thank you for coming," Lowe smiled disarmingly, "Please, have a seat and I'll be with you in a moment." She gestured to the small bistro set.

Feeling marginally less apprehensive, Hermione did. Compared to the corridor, the office had a very nice feeling to it.

Not even a minute later, Lowe sighed, "Oh, whatever, I can deal with them later." Gracefully, she circled her desk and took the seat across from Hermione.

"You wanted to speak to me?" the younger witch asked, forcing herself to not appear nervous. It was the same act that had gotten her through numerous talks with the school principal over her accidental bouts of magic when she was younger.

"In a moment," Lowe told her, before calling, "Dobby!"

With a loud crack, a creature with large eyes like tennis balls appeared in front of the table. "What can Dobby do for Professor Lowe?" the creature asked eagerly, bowing so low that the tips of its floppy ears nearly touched the ground. He was instantly recognizable as a house-elf, although Hermione had only ever met one before.

"Would you please get me a mug of chai and a plate of those wonderful oatmeal and raisin cookies?" Lowe requested, the corners of her lips tilted up, before she turned to Hermione, "And whatever Ms. Granger needs." With a lazy wave of her hand, she introduced the younger witch.

Feeling strange about the creature serving her, Hermione mumbled out something about a cup of tea.

"Yes, Miss Granger and Professor Lowe!" squeaked Dobby with a big smile. With another loud crack, it (he?) disappeared again.

This left the two witches alone again. It was a strange, awkward position, and Hermione fought the urge to fiddle with the edge of her sweatshirt.

"I'm sorry if I've made you uncomfortable," Lowe apologized, frowning down at the table, "I'm afraid I'm not very good at putting others at ease. Is there anything you want to start out with?"

The first thing Hermione thought of was quidditch, which she mentally rolled her eyes at. "Why are you teaching now?" she finally decided to ask, not seeing another way to ease into conversation, "You helped win the World Cup, after all."

Lowe smiled thinly. "The incident with the bludger caused the managers a panic and they forced me into retirement," she answered with a self-depreciating smile, "They said I was too old and it would be too risky for me to continue. Sports politics, basically."

"You're so good at glamor charms," Hermione commented, curiosity rearing its ugly head now, "How did they find out your real age?"

The response she got was laughter. It wasn't excessively cold, but a chill still went down Hermione's spine at the sound. Something about this woman set her on edge. "I haven't used a glamor since I was sixteen," Lowe chuckled, shaking her head, "They knew my real age because I told them."

Eyes wide, Hermione couldn't help but stare. "You can't bee serious," she argued, "You don't have laugh lines or grey or anything!"

Lowe shrugged. "I have good genes," she replied, the corners of her lips tilting up still. She had dimples on the sides of her mouth.

With a loud crack, Dobby reappeared. "Chai, cookies and tea!" Dobby announced, setting the large mugs, tea service and plate on the small table. He gripped the edge of the tray tightly in front of them as he asked, "Is there anything else mistresses need of Dobby?"

"No, thank you," Lowe told him. With another crack, he disappeared again.

Hermione took her time adding cream to her tea and stirring it. Now that the tea was here, she felt awkward and on edge again.

Nonchalantly, Lowe added sugar and cream to hers before speaking. "On to business then," she murmured, shifting her eyes from Hermione to her mug, "You've been having a disturbing repetitive dream. Could you please tell me about it?" She took a sip of her drink and sighed with pleasure.

Hermione's grip tightened around her cup. "Since you seem to know about it, why don't you tell me?" she challenged.

"I've already violated your privacy enough," Lowe told her sternly, "I only know about the dream because it was near the front of your mind during the game and I didn't look beyond the emotions assigned. You were highly distressed by it."

There were no words for the rage that went from zero to one hundred in that moment. "Legilimency?" she shrieked, not caring that she was disrespecting a teacher, "You invaded my mind! You had no right!"

The new professor simply looked at Hermione's lips as she screamed, not attempting to defend herself at all. She took all the abuse the younger witch heaped upon her with blank eyes.

"Thank you _so much_ for your offer to help, but I don't think you can do anything for me," Hermione finally hissed. She slammed her mug down and stalked out the door.

* * *

Thank you for reading again! Please review.

-Thrae


	4. All The Myths Are True

Thank you to Hannah Bowers, CheshireCat23 and BlondeBrainBox! Your reviews are inspiring!

Hannah Bowers: I'd originally intended to make it a regular old CD/HG, but Oliver just popped in there of his own accord. Somehow, I don't think Hermione minds very much... Thank you for letting me know you enjoy it and that it's original!

Disclaimer: I own nothing under trademark, only Moira Lowe.

* * *

Chapter Four: All The Myths Are True

For the next six weeks, Hermione's fury would not abate. Whenever someone brought up a subject even remotely related to Lowe she would snap, and when she actually saw the woman she resolutely ignored her existence. It got so bad that people were beginning to avoid her all together, especially Parvati and Lavender.

Even Ron and Harry were on perpetual tenterhooks with her. "I know you've always hated divination, but I think you're taking it a bit far," Harry bravely told her one night. For his trouble, he received a murderous glare and the silent treatment for the next day.

Only Cedric and Oliver seemed to be completely at ease around her still. Then again, they were the only ones Hermione gave an explanation to, since they already knew about the dream.

"That's rough," Oliver had immediately sighed when he heard what had happened, "Pity, she seemed alright."

On the other hand, Cedric had a less pleasing but more thoughtful reply. "Legilimency usually relies on eye contact," he thought aloud, "The only time she was able to get a clear view into your eyes at the game was when she was a bit addle-brained from getting hit. She probably wasn't thinking right when she did it. It doesn't make it right, but I don't think she meant any harm by it."

Most of Hermione's time was spent in the divination section of the library after the debacle. It was a crazy change from her usual haunts, but better in her mind than either of the divination teachers. In the section on dreams, she pored through everything she could find. She came up with very little useful information.

Meanwhile, classwork stacked up. Natural talent was helpful as ever, allowing Hermione to do a good portion of her homework in class and thus more side research in her off time. Potions was the only exception, but that was to be expected.

The six weeks until October 30th passed in a blur of books, bad temper and quidditch captains. It was truly dizzying looking back.

That particular day seemed to take forever to go by. Classes were let out early (thank Godric, considering that her last class was potions) and the students were lined up on the steps in order of year, shivering in the cold.

Hermione stood to Harry's right, watching the sky and listening to guesses as to how the guests would arrive. Once she had to remind Ron that it was impossible to apparate into Hogwarts. 'When will he ever learn?' she asked herself, sneaking a glance over her shoulder.

Obviously, Cedric had heard the exchange, as he shook his head and smirked. Behind him, Oliver raised an amused eyebrow. Playfully, the Gryffindor Keeper rested his chin on the top of his rival captain's head and pretended to snore.

When McGonagall told him off loudly for not being serious, he put on his most innocent face only to wink at Hermione when their head of house turned her head. It was difficult to not giggle, so she went back to watching the sky. There was no sense in getting scolded too.

The arrival methods of the foreign students were unexpected to say the least. The Durmstrang ship was particularly impressive in a ghoulish way, and the students that issued out in their matted furs personified the ship perfectly. That Viktor Krum was one of those students was just the icing on the cake of surprise for her.

On the other side of Harry, it seemed like Ron was having an orgasm at the sight of his idol. It was a disturbing mental image.

The rest of the night was nerve wracking. Dumbledore's speech about the Triwizard Cup had made it abundantly clear to her what the glowing crystal trophy from her dream was. It was becoming clearer by the day that her nightmare was important.

When the students were released from the welcome feast, Hermione had searched everywhere for Cedric to warn him- beg him, even- to not enter the Tournament. When Karkaroff stalled in the doorway staring at Harry, she lost her chance. Cedric's tousled bronze head was already out of sight.

Not knowing what she was nervous about, Harry and Ron had been no help. They watched in alarm and confusion as Hermione worked herself into hysterics in the common room, trying and failing to find a way to comfort her.

In the end it was Oliver who finally succeeded in the enormous task. When it became obvious that the male portion of the "Golden Trio" weren't going to be able to do anything, he loped over to the armchair Hermione had curled up in and knelt in front of it. Oblivious to the stares he was garnering, he crooned, "Come on, wee sparrow, get up a minute."

Almost as soon as he spoke, he was nearly tackled by Hermione. Clutching his robes tightly, she started to cry in earnest. Oliver lifted her the rest of the way and turned to seat himself on the cushions, then set her on his lap. "It'll be fine, it's just a nightmare," he tried to assure her.

"A r-repeating nightm-m-mare about him dy-ying!" Hermione sobbed into his shoulder, curling up against him. Slowly, she began to wind down.

Over her head, Oliver sent a nod to Harry before resting his chin on her crown.

Perceptively, the dark haired boy pulled Ron up the stairs to the dorms. If there was anyone Harry could trust Hermione with outside of the Weasley family, it would have to be Wood. That didn't mean that he wouldn't be nosy later, however.

Clutching the bushy haired witch securely to his chest, Oliver rocked her slowly. He didn't say anything more, simply listening to what he could understand of her garbled words. When Harry and Ron had disappeared, he subtly pressed his lips to Hermione's head.

The spicy scent of cinnamon filled his nose, with an undertone of something rich and sweet. The combination was addicting and Oliver found himself burying his nose in her hair. One hand continued to support her while the other ran up and down her back, trying to soothe her further into calm.

Only when the room had emptied did Hermione's shoulders fully stop shaking. "Yeh feelin' alright then sparrow?" Oliver asked gently.

The answer was a quiet snore. She had managed to cry herself to sleep.

Oliver couldn't help smiling as he observed her sleeping, head on his chest. She looked so innocent right then, a small fist holding tightly to his robes near her face. Not for the first time, he wondered how Hermione could trust anyone enough to fall asleep with them after all that had happened to her. It made him internally rage at the unfairness of the world yet again.

Sitting there with her so trusting in his arms felt right. Well, almost right, but Oliver wasn't ready to acknowledge it. Gryffindor he was, completely fearless he wasn't.

A pair of laughing grey eyes managed to invade Oliver's psyche anyway. _Cedric._ That was the missing piece, the one that he absolutely refused to admit was a part of the puzzle in the first place.

The memory of settling into bed together made Oliver unconsciously smile. It had been awkward at first, as anyone could expect from two people that barely knew each other, but the need to not feel alone prevailed. Cedric had loaned him a pair of pajama pants and a shirt, and once they had changed (separately!) in the bathroom, they crawled under the covers on either side of Hermione.

A good few hours of the night had been spent awake. Neither boy had spoken, instead staring around the room or at each other or Hermione. Either way it had been a connecting point for them.

What kind of connection, Oliver wasn't sure. A huge portion of him was afraid to know. It would only make things at home harder if the answer was what he thought it was.

With some difficulty, he shook the downward spiraling thoughts from his head. Right then all he had to worry about was the witch on his lap and where to set her to sleep. Feeling lazy and rather daring, Oliver transfigured a piece of parchment into a blanket.

Once the soft down covering was tucked around them both, Oliver yawned. A goofy smile briefly skittered across his face as he realized that he may get a good night of sleep for the first time in two months.

As soon as his head lolled back, he was out like a light.

* * *

Upon waking, Hermione was quick to realize that she wasn't in her bed. She was positive that her bed was completely horizontal and had no reason to breathe. 'Calm,' she coached herself before even opening her eyes, 'My clothes are on, nothing untoward happened... This sort of thing is happening much too often.'

That she could easily smell freshly cut grass and some sort of polish went unsaid. It was also unnecessary to say that Hermione was extremely comfortable where she was. Whoever she was sitting on had a long, lanky body, but his chest was firm under her cheek and his thighs were comfortable beneath her. His extreme body heat kept the chill of the tower from her, an added bonus.

A funny urge to go back to sleep came over Hermione. It was like when she would accidentally wake up before sunrise, but more from being comfortable than from tiredness. The feeling was unusual but nice.

Just as she was about to think, 'To hell with it,' and go back to sleep, her human mattress let out a groan. Hermione froze; that groan was startlingly familiar.

"Sleep well, wee sparrow?" Of course, it had to be Oliver that she fell asleep on.

Everything about last night rushed back in a mortifying flood of memories, making Hermione flush to match the upholstery. "I absolutely humiliated myself last night," she found herself grumbling, burying her face in his shoulder again, "How do you think I feel?"

It was difficult to remain in a bad mood when Oliver began running his fingers through her hair. The scents of freshly cut grass and polish in his shirt further soothed her. "I think yeh should feel better now that yeh let out all that misery," he suggested calmly, if not a bit sleepily.

That reminded Hermione of what today was, or rather, what would happen today. Panic swept through her again. If it weren't for the arms still wrapped around her torso, she would have jumped up and began pacing to try to let out all the tension.

As it was, Oliver held on tight and nuzzled her hair. "What will keep yeh from gettin' so worked up?" he sighed, "Potter, Weasley and Cedric will have my head if you start cryin' again..."

"Cedric not entering this bloody tournament will do the trick!" Hermione snapped aggressively, "Now let go of me, you big lug!" She didn't mean to take out her frustrations on Oliver, but if he didn't release her that moment...

Instead, Oliver easily turned her to fully face him. "That dream," he asked slowly, "Yeh think that was Cedric in the graveyard?" He expected the truth, gazing into her eyes like he could see her soul.

Although she felt incredibly exposed, Hermione couldn't break eye contact. His eyes were like melted chocolate: rich, soft and addicting. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that she could get lost in them for hours.

"Sparrow?" Oliver prompted gently.

"I think so," she confirmed reluctantly. Her voice was low, practically a whisper.

A fuzzy feeling took up residence in Hermione's brain that she didn't particularly like; it was impossible to think as long as she stared at Oliver. But it was even more impossible to break away even as her gaze moved from his eyes down a defined Greek nose to his lips. They were chapped and just a shade darker than the rest of his skin, thin but not unattractive.

A crazy thought took up residence in her brain, wondering what they would feel like. The mere mention, even just in her mind, made Hermione blush hotly. 'No!' she scolded herself, 'That's just wrong! He's too old for me! He probably thinks of me as a little sister!'

She was so caught up in denial tat she almost managed to miss Oliver's face closing in. "Sparrow," he breathed, "Look at me." He was so close that his nose bumped the side of hers, their lips almost touching when he spoke.

Hermione's breath caught in her throat when she did. While his eyes were still soft, they were intense and didn't waver from hers. Just another slight shift...

A loud bang echoed from upstairs.

As unexpectedly as the moment had come, it went, leaving Hermione to jump out of Oliver's arms with a deep blush. "I, uh, see you later!" she stammered. She ran up the stairs to her dorm as fast as her legs could carry her.

Only when she had tripped inside and closed the door behind her did Hermione stop, panting where she leaned. With a loud thunk, she allowed her overheated head to fall against the cool wood of the door.

'What in Godric's name...' she thought, shocked, 'He was about to kiss me!' Her fingertips traced her lips where she could still feel Oliver's breath against her skin.

"What what that sound?" asked Parvati sleepily from behind her half open hangings.

Startled, Hermione brought her eyes to focus. "Oh, uh, probably another prank from Fred and George," she weakly guessed.

With a groan, Parvati shut her hangings again. The room went quiet.

Hermione was in a daze as she changed into her pajamas and laid down in her bed. The fuzzy feeling in her head hadn't gone away, but at the moment it didn't bother her. As she closed her eyes and began to fall asleep, she took comfort in the smells of polish and freshly mowed grass.

No nightmares bothered Hermione Granger that morning. Instead, something stranger happened.

* * *

After being up most of the night, Cedric finally went to sleep around sunrise.

He had been up debating whether to enter his name in the goblet since the welcome feast that night. It had been a remarkably hard decision to come to, and not only on its own merits. The nightmare Hermione had told him about pressed heavily on him, making him fear...

In the end, Cedric had put his name in. After all, he was far from the only Hufflepuff entering. 'It was only a nightmare,' he told himself as he crossed the age line at half after two in the morning, 'Hermione doesn't even believe it.'

A nagging voice snorted, "Sure, it's perfectly reasonable to have the same nightmare for a month straight about someone you don't know exists. Dolt."

By the time Cedric realized the voice was right, he had already put his name in and was heading back down to the basement. He hypothetically beat himself over the head for the rest of the night.

Now however, he wondered if being chosen for the tournament was the only thing he had to worry about. Although Cedric knew he was asleep, this wasn't like any dream he had ever had before; it was unusually clear and realistic. 'Is this how Hermione feels?' he wondered, gazing around curiously.

He was in a forest, but not any he recognized. The trees appeared to be huge, ancient oaks, spaced just far enough apart to allow sunlight to filter through the leaves. The air was crisp, clean and earthy rather than murky or stifling,and the ground was firm and covered with springy grass. Cedric wished it was a real place. He could see himself spending full days exploring and climbing.

Unworried, he began walking. It was strange to feel the grass beneath his feet after so long having shoes on whenever he was outside. Cedric made a mental note to go out barefoot more often when spring came around.

"Dancing bears, painted wings, things I almost remember..." a light, high voice sang, "And a song, someone sings, once upon a Dece-ember... Someone holds me safe and warm, horses prance through a silver storm, figures dancing gracefully, across my memory..." The voice was faint, as if coming from a small ways away, but familiar.

Curiously, Cedric began to wander toward the singer. This was his dream, so what was someone else doing there?

"... Someone holds me safe and warm, horses prance through a silver storm, figures dancing gracefully, across my memory... Far away, long ago, glowing dim as an ember..." Whoever was singing wasn't that bad, Cedric thought with a small smile. There had only been a few falters in tone like the singer was still getting used to her voice changing.

Finally, she was in sight and Cedric found his jaw slightly dropping. It was Hermione, but she was... beautiful. Not that she wasn't pretty usually, but sitting in a patch of sunlight against the trunk of a particularly large tree, she glowed. In a simple white sundress, every physical advantage she had was displayed- a slim waist, small but perky breasts, long pale legs and dainty feet. The pale peach of her skin looked touchable, and her riotous curls had fascinating gold highlights.

"... Things my heart used to know, things it yearns to remember..." Hermione finished, "And a song, someone sings... Once upon a Dece-em-beeer..." She drew out the last syllable without a falter, closed eyes and relaxed face showing that it was effortless for her.

Not wanting to startle her, Cedric stayed a couple of yards away when he applauded. "That was nice," he complimented, smiling.

Hermione still jumped, and when she saw him, blushed. "Err, thanks," she accepted, lifting her shoulders in a shrug, "It's nice to have a dream of you that isn't a nightmare."

Startled, Cedric blinked. "Wait, this is my dream," he told her, eyebrow raised.

"Whatever you say," Hermione smiled, shaking her head indulgently. She patted the ground beside her in invitation.

Deciding that it was a futile effort to argue, Cedric took the offer. Once he was sitting on the strangely solid ground, he leaned back and stretched out his legs in front of him. "Where did you learn to sing like that?" he asked, going back to a neutral topic.

Again, Hermione flushed. "It's practice," she confessed, "I sing in the shower whenever I know I'm alone." She chuckled in a self-depreciating way.

Cedric reached over and took her hand in his. "You're much better than I could ever be," he assured her brightly, "Only a few falters, probably because your voice is still adjusting. It was very nice to listen to."

The smile he received was shy, but warm. "Thanks," she murmured, squeezing Cedric's hand, "I don't think anyone knows I sing."

"You have a nice voice," Cedric insisted, "Why keep it to yourself?" It was nice to sit with Hermione without any worries, easy and comfortable.

"Ron would take the mickey out of me if he knew," she snorted, rolling her eyes, "And he's not the only one. I don't even want to think about what Fred and George would say."

The thought made Cedric wince. While not conventionally cruel, the Weasley twins weren't soft with their jokes at any rate. "I've been on the receiving end of some of their pranks before," he shared, a disturbed frown on his face, "They turned me green and silver after the match with the dementors last year."

Hermione obviously tried not to, her hand over her mouth, but she giggled. "That's terrible," she laughed, shaking her head, "I'm sorry for laughing, but that's just so... them. Boys and quidditch!"

They talked a while longer, mainly on inane topics like sports and books, before Hermione seemed to get nervous. She bit her lip and her eyes darted around, although she had forced her body to relax. It was curious, since she had been so at ease up until then.

"What's wrong?" Cedric finally asked, tilting his head to the side.

It was the question that set off the torrent. For possibly five minutes, Hermione ranted about the dangers of the Triwizard Tournament and what could possibly happen before she even got to the problems presented by her nightmare. "I don't know what you would be doing in a graveyard, but I'm afraid," she admitted, "There's traditionally lots of foul play in the tournament anyway, but this will be cold blooded murder."

The mere thought sent shivers down Cedric's spine. He refused to surrender to fear, however, and told her cheerfully, "I doubt I'll be chosen anyway. Ian, Kelly and Marlene are entering and they're absurdly good."

Hermione went pale and clutched the skirt of her dress tightly. "Please tell me you didn't enter," she whispered, wide eyes focused squarely on his.

"Around 2:30 this morning," Cedric confirmed solemnly. He reached over and carefully pried the fabric of the dress from Hermione's fists, noting her whitened knuckles as he did. The hand closer to him, he held on his knee and stroked the back of with his thumb.

"I'll help you as much as I can," Hermione promised several deep breaths later, "But I have to help Harry too. He's only a fourth year."

"You don't believe in divination," Cedric pointed out, still holding her hand on his knee, "Why do you think your nightmare will happen?"

The look Hermione gave him was desperate. "What else would explain the trophy portkey?" she questioned, "I was having this nightmare before I even met you, and I don't want to believe it's real either but I can't explain this!" She tried to seize her hand back, probably to move away.

Cedric wasn't having it. He forcibly kept her right beside him, even using his free hand to turn her jaw to face him. "Look at me," he ordered.

When she did, her eyes were glassy with tears. It left Cedric's heart aching and left him kicking himself again. He hated seeing girls cry, but Hermione was a special case; she was closer and this time it was his fault.

"If I _am_ chosen, I'll survive," Cedric said, not using the word promise but meaning it, "If Harry is involved, I'll look out for him too for you." He gave her a crooked grin, the same one he had been told made girls swoon. "You don't have anything to worry about, love."

"Why do I care so much?" Hermione asked, voice cracking, "I barely know you." A single tear tracked down her cheek.

Carefully, Cedric wiped it away. "I'm confused too," he confided, "But whatever is going on, I don't think it's a bad thing. You're an amazing girl, and I look forward to getting to know you better." He didn't even think about what he was doing when he pulled her closer.

Hermione froze when his lips pressed against her forehead. She was obviously uncomfortable with the intimacy of the action, but Cedric didn't feel bad about it. Instead, he simply released her from his hold and smiled.

"I'll leave you be for now," he said, getting up. As a matter of habit, he brushed off his shorts before he moved off. "See you when we wake up," Cedric called cheekily before he strode away through the trees.

Almost as soon as he started walking away from Hermione, the colors of the forest began to fade around him. Blackness encroached until awareness left and Cedric slept without dreams until he was rather rudely awakened.

* * *

Hermione was easily kept occupied from the moment she woke (around noon) to dinner. Almost everyone from Gryffindor questioned her about her relationship with Oliver, and even some people from other houses asked. They all received the same answer however: "I don't know, and it's none of your business anyway."

Only Harry seemed to have some tact about it, not asking openly but watching her like a hawk. It was appreciated, especially when Ron inevitably put his foot in his mouth.

"He's too old for you, Mione," the youngest Weasley brother insisted, "He's probably using you for something."

At that, Hermione snorted. "What would he use me for?" she laughed derisively, "It's not like I'd be any help in quidditch or for his N.E.W.T.'s. I haven't even taken my O.W.L.'s yet."

Marginally, Ron calmed down. "You should still be careful around him," he mumbled.

Luckily, that was the last of that conversation. At the same time, it hurt just a little that Ron didn't see her as a possible object of masculine interest. Not even her familial feelings for him could excuse him for inadvertently calling her "just one of the guys."

Compared to before, Cedric and Oliver seemed to be making themselves scarce. The one time Hermione caught sight of Oliver they were a corridor away from each other. Meanwhile, the run-in with Cedric featured a smile, a wave and a wink. As he walked away, Hermione swore she heard him humming, "Once upon a December."

By dinnertime, she was almost in as much of a muddle as when the tournament was first announced. It was inevitable after hearing through the grapevine that yes, Cedric had entered. Several others from Hogwarts had entered, from Angelina Johnson to Marcus Flint, but any of them being chosen wasn't even a possibility.

Honestly, Hermione wasn't sure what she hoped for. If Cedric were chosen, her nightmare would be that much closer to coming true and Harry may be pulled in somehow. If not, she had no idea what the tournament would bring and Harry still might be involved.

The feast went by at the pace of a snail. Oliver was on the other side of the twins and Cedric didn't even have the option of sitting at their table. Harry and Ron didn't have an idea why her appetite was non-existent. With a grimace, Hermione mainly just pushed her food around her plate until dessert disappeared from the table.

The candles dimmed and the goblet was placed at the front of the hall. The instructions were given by Dumbledore for the selected champions before the flames of the goblet turned red. A charred scrap of parchment was spat out.

Hermione clutched her skirt tightly as her stomach roiled with anxiety.

"The champion for Durmstrang will be Viktor Krum!" announced Dumbledore, to riotous applause. It took a moment for the hall to settle down after he had slouched out of the hall.

'No surprise there,' Hermione thought, although there wasn't any feeling in it. The memory of his curious gaze in mind, she wished him well nonetheless.

A second piece of parchment was propelled out of the flames. "The champion for Beauxbatons is Fleur Delacour!" Dumbledore called.

This time, the applause was mainly male. The girl looked like she was part veela, Hermione had observed before, absurdly beautiful in a way that wasn't quite human. She seemed to have her own light as she glided through the door in the back of the hall.

There was only one champion left to decide- Hogwarts. Fear choked Hermione at that, leaving her sick to her stomach. She moved her hands consciously to her lap to hide their shaking.

The flames turned red again and Hermione knew who the champion was even before the Headmaster read off his name: Cedric Diggory. While the whole of Hufflepuff jumped to their feet, Hermione felt ready to pass out on the floor. 'This can't be real,' she struggled to think past the noise and her own disbelief, 'This can't be happening. It's impossible.'

Her eyes watched a very pale and weakly grinning Cedric the whole way to the door in the back of the hall. Right before he left, his gaze flickered to the Gryffindor table. Hermione swore he looked straight at her, but he left the room before it could be verified.

To her other side, Oliver had leaned out behind the twins and was definitely looking at her. In the dim light of the candles and the goblet, he looked as pale as Hermione felt. "You were right," he mouthed.

"It's not over," she returned, terror welling up. While everyone else chattered and celebrated, she knew... When the goblet turned red for an unprecedented fourth time, she was the only one not surprised.

"Harry Potter."

As the hall burst into chaos around them, Oliver and Hermione looked at each other with horror. There was no way to write off her nightmare now.

* * *

Thank you for reading, now please review and tell me how I'm doing!

-Thrae


	5. Understandings

Thank you thepaperninja, kaylamarie2012, Lucy Stark, Guest, asiantotheleft, Whisper Gypsy and EPM for your lovely reviews!

kaylamarie2012: Aw, I find it sad that you avoid reviewing. It makes me feel very special, but reviews are an author's oxygen and some are suffocating. Everyone can improve and reviews are a tool that can help us do that!

Disclaimer: I own only Moira Lowe.

* * *

Chapter Five: Understandings

When the students were released from the hall, it was like a war was announced. The Hufflepuffs were glaring at the Gryffindors like they all personally ate the last cookie in the jar and Ravenclaws gave equally baleful glares. The Slytherins sneered at all three other houses as they slid down to the dungeons.

Hermione, however, had more important things on her mind than a social war; she needed to talk to Cedric and Harry. Until at least tomorrow though, that would be impossible. They would most likely be kept half the night by the arguing officials, and even afterward Cedric was in a different house.

The whole way up to the portrait hole, Hermione was in a cloud of disbelief. Her nightmare played before her eyes over and over again, leaving tremors in its wake. This couldn't be happening.

"Hermione," whispered a familiar Scottish burr in her ear, "We need to talk."

When she turned around, it was indeed Oliver. The frown on his face was unusual and reminded Hermione of the one he wore every time Harry was hospitalized. He was obviously worried.

"Lead the way," Hermione replied in a low voice.

It wasn't unexpected when Oliver took her by the hand and led her up the stairs to the boys' dorms. He couldn't get up the stairs to the girls' dorms, after all. Several flights up, he pulled her into his room.

While he shut and locked the door, Hermione took a brief look around. Several books and papers were spread around on the floor and clothing hung off chairs and bedposts, but it wasn't a total pigsty. At least there wasn't any food laying around.

"Here, sit down," Oliver instructed, bouncing onto the bed on the right nearer to the door. He was laying lengthwise across the bed on his stomach, head resting on his crossed arms. The frown was still there as he gazed up at her.

Hermione had the ridiculous urge to soothe the frown away. Instead she gingerly took a seat beside him, careful to keep her hands to herself. "I think it's obvious now that it's not just a nightmare," she sighed, "But what to do about it...?"

Oliver grimaced. "Please don't hex me for this," he requested, before suggesting almost timidly, "But I think that yeh should try to work things out with Lowe. She might be able to help."

The suggestion didn't go over as badly as it may have less than an hour before. "If you'd suggested Trelawney, I'd think of it," Hermione told him with a sad smile, "But after tonight, I don't think anyone but Lowe _could_ help. There's nothing relevant in the library."

The thought of the library failing was still disconcerting. For weeks, Hermione had wished that the wizarding world had the internet. Perhaps there was something on there that could help.

"Are yeh serious?" Oliver asked, bewildered, "Prophetic dreams are important in divination. There should be somethin' in there."

"Nothing relevant," Hermione snapped, lips pursed, "If you think I missed something, be my guest."

Oliver put his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "I trust yer researchin' skills," he assured her, "I'm just surprised."

The frustration and helplessness Hermione felt was almost debilitating. She felt ready to cry for the second time in as many days, not counting in her dream. 'This has got to stop,' she thought, frowning at her hands on her lap.

For a few moments they sat in silence, each with their own thoughts. It wasn't uncomfortable, even with the sounds of partying drifting up from the common room. The thought of being discovered alone with Oliver a second time came to mind, but it didn't bother her as much as normal.

'It's not like we're naked,' Hermione thought dryly. The mental image of Oliver nude was inevitable at that point, leaving red to stain her cheeks.

"Yer blushin'," the Scotsman teased, "What're yeh thinkin' of?"

"What should I say to Lowe?" Hermione blurted out the first excuse she could think of. "I was so disrespectful, I even shouted at her!" Like hell she would ever tell him that she had envisioned him naked.

Oliver's smile gentled. "Yeh'll know when yeh see her," he advised.

"Thanks," Hermione told him gratefully, "I'll tell you what happens, then we can make a plan. We need to help keep Harry and Cedric alive."

"It's strange how important Cedric has gotten," Oliver mused, "Just last year I hated his bleedin' guts and now I'm helpin' yeh keep him alive." He chuckled and buried his face in his arms.

Hermione's fingers ran through his hair absently. "You men and your sports," she sighed, amused, "I'm glad you're helping me. I'd go crazy trying to do this by myself." With a stroke from his forehead to the nape of his neck, Hermione stood.

"Goin' so soon?" Oliver mumbled, straightening his head to look at her. His eyes were even softer with the lack of focus, pupils huge against his irises. It reminded Hermione strongly of a boy falling asleep in class.

"I can't stay," Hermione reminded him, smoothing out her skirt, "I've got to get back to my dorm."

Obviously, Oliver was disappointed. "See yeh tomorrow then, sparrow," he told her, managing to open one side of his lips in a grin.

Feeling a little bad, Hermione put her hand through his hair a last time. "Sleep well," she wished him before journeying out the door.

She could have sworn she heard him snort, "Yeah right." Still, she kept on her way down the stairs.

Luckily, Hermione didn't run into anyone on the way down. The staircases were only separated by a stone wall, so she had no trouble with anyone seeing her come down the boys' stairs. Not feeling like celebrating, she crept up to her own dorm and fell asleep shortly after.

* * *

For the next few days, it was nearly impossible to get around the ring of fangirls to Cedric. Since Harry needed Hermione's support (that git Ron had abandoned him), it was up to Oliver to find a way to talk to him.

On Sunday night, Hermione had conferred with him again on the matter of Harry- he hadn't put his name in the goblet. "I think someone is trying to kill him," she had confided with abnormally shiny eyes, "And with the history of the Triwizard Tournament, meaning half the champions since its inception getting killed, it's a good bet that they'll succeed."

As Oliver stalked through the halls, he thought dryly, 'Thank Godric that Hermione isn't a manipulator. She could get me to do nearly anything.' As it was, he was practically on a suicide mission trying to talk to Cedric: the Hufflepuffs were acting remarkably Slytherinesque toward Gryffindors.

It was only on Thursday that he even managed that much. It took feigning illness near the end of Divination to get into place in the Charms corridor, where he knew Cedric tended to walk right by the wall. The part of his brain wondering why he knew that was quieted the moment the bell rang.

From behind the edge of the tapestry, Oliver watched students spill out of the classrooms. "Come on," he muttered, not seeing Cedric exit, "Come on..."

Only when he was about to give up did the Hufflepuff leave. Everything from there went according to plan and Oliver hauled him behind the tapestry with two quick movements.

"Stu-" Cedric began.

"It's me!" Oliver interrupted in a hiss, "Oliver! Now get yer wand out of my ribs!"

Quickly, the thin piece of wood was removed. "Why did you feel the need to practically kidnap me?" Cedric asked with a disbelieving laugh, "I was about to hex you back to the Middle Ages!"

"Yer housemates aren't exactly bein' accommodatin' to Gryffindors right now," Oliver explained, "And Harry needs Hermione now, or she'd be here too." He released Cedric's wrist like it burned when he realized he was still holding onto it.

"How did Potter get past the age line anyway?" Cedric questioned lightly. It was a loaded question.

Oliver sighed and put his newly freed hand through his hair. "He didn't enter himself," he told the Hufflepuff hurriedly, "Yeh should've seen the look on his face when his name was called. He was clueless. Horrified, even."

For a moment, Cedric was quiet. "You believe him?" he asked.

"Yes," Oliver answered immediately.

The silence between them was nerve wracking for the Gryffindor Keeper, though the sounds of other students were loud on the other side of the tapestry. 'What if he doesn't believe me?' he thought, the possibility making his stomach roil.

"What do we do then?" Cedric asked seriously, "I don't think anyone was trying to give him a treat with this."

The tension drained out of Oliver's shoulders immediately. "Hermione is goin' to see Professor Lowe soon," he shared, feeling lighter than before, "I don't know what else we _can_ do, with yeh competin' against each other.

An amused snort echoed in the passageway. "Just because we're rivals doesn't mean I wouldn't help him beforehand," Cedric mused, "I reckon we'd both be more prepared then. My mates aren't much help."

"Any idea what the task is?" Oliver questioned.

"None," Cedric replied, probably frowning. It was hard to see anything in the unlit passageway.

Oliver again ran a hand through his hair. "I'll pass it to Harry and Hermione that yeh'd be willin' to work together," he volunteered. The knowledge made him feel remarkably cheerful, more so than he remembered since the champions were announced.

The bell rang, leaving Oliver cursing. "Sorry I made yeh late," he apologized, moving to rip back the tapestry, "I'll send yeh an owl when we figure everythin' out."

Cedric's hand grabbed his free wrist. "Where does this passage go?" he asked.

"Err, if I remember right, to the entrance hall," Oliver answered, a little confused, "Why?"

"Herbology next," Cedric snickered, "Perfect. I'll see you and Hermione in the kitchens at lunch tomorrow. Meet me in front of the fruit bowl painting in the basement." With that, he released Oliver and his footfalls led away.

For a moment, Oliver simply stood gaping at where he heard the echoes of Cedric's footsteps. The urge to give a victory fist pump almost overtook him, but he pushed it down as he stepped out from behind the tapestry. He resolutely ignored the tingling feeling on his wrist as he entered the Charms classroom.

"Tardy, Mr. Wood!" trilled tiny Flitwick where he stood on his desk.

"Well you see professor, I found Mrs. Norris trapped in a display case in the trophy room and it took several very difficult counter-curses-" Oliver grinned, very obviously lying as had been his habit for as long as he remembered.

Flitwick sighed and gestured to the Gryffindor side of the room. "Whatever you say, Mr. Wood," he told the Keeper, amused, "Now please sit down, we're covering the Fidelius Charm today..."

Feeling extremely light, Oliver did as he was told. His grin didn't waver through the whole lesson, and had nothing to do with it. 'Finally, things are starting to go right again,' he thought.

* * *

Hermione had spent the whole week ardently avoiding Lowe, despite her assurances to Oliver that she would apologize. It wasn't that she didn't want to, having mainly forgiven the professor for invading her mind, but rather fear. Fear of being told that her dream was unavoidable, that it couldn't be changed, that Cedric would invariably die.

When Oliver had passed on Cedric's message, the terror lessened slightly. There was a while yet before anything would happen, Hermione was sure. 'I may as well enjoy being with him while I can,' she privately resolved.

Due to Harry being chosen as a champion, nastiness accumulated around them like never before. Even in their second year it had been more bearable, since they had Ron on their side back then.

'Immature prat,' Hermione thought viciously as she and Harry walked down to Potions, 'So much for being best friends...' It was obvious to her that Ron was jealous, but that didn't excuse his behavior!

The badges didn't help. Someone had come up with absurd buttons that said, "Support Cedric Diggory- The Real Hogwarts Champion!" When pressed, they turned a sickening green and the message changed to, "Potter Stinks." It only bothered Hermione because they were insulting her best friend- she was used to brushing off any insults directed at her.

The straw that broke the camel's back came when Malfoy hit her with a tooth growing hex right before Potions. Snape's horrible comment about seeing no difference was just the icing on the cake, possibly the cruelest thing that had ever been said to Hermione. It was really no wonder that she had broken down in tears.

'My teeth are down to my collar!' she mentally raged, although she was outwardly unable to do anything but cry and run toward the hospital wing, 'What do you mean that there's no difference, you overgrown dungeon bat?'

Blinded by her tears, Hermione bowled someone over a few corridors from the hospital wing. If she were able to speak she would have apologized profusely, but as it was she simply scrambled off them. More humiliated tears fell down her face.

"Miss Granger!" Lowe exclaimed from the ground, "Here, I'll bring you to the hospital wing!" She practically flew up from the floor to wrap an arm around Hermione's shoulder and guided her at a steadier pace to the fourth floor.

The halls had cleared out, which the younger witch was grateful for. It was enough that her entire Potions class and now Lowe had seen her. 'At least she's not being snarky about it,' Hermione thought, still trying to hide her teeth with her sleeves. The trip was made quickly and silently.

Once she opened the doors to the hospital wing, Lowe called, "Poppy! I've got a student here!" She herded Hermione over to an empty cot near the doors, then sat in the chair beside it.

Madame Pomfrey swooped down on Hermione seemingly out of nowhere. "What on earth were you all doing?" she demanded scathingly, "Oh, never mind for now, you can't answer me anyhow. You get into almost as many binds as Potter..."

The reminder sent Hermione into another bout of tears. Personal issues forgotten, she cast a desperate look to Lowe.

"Can you please fix this quickly?" the divination professor requested smoothly, "Ms. Granger needs to get back to classes soon." She gave the matron an expectant, almost a haughty look.

Scowling, Madame Pomfrey went about examining Hermione's still growing teeth. "It'll take some time, unfortunately," she fussed, "Reducio!"

When she looked down, Hermione saw that her teeth had not only stopped growing, but had begun rapidly shrinking. When they were about to her chin, the process stopped, however. She let out a whimper, terrified that this was the smallest they would ever be again.

"Just a moment," Madame Pomfrey said, bustling back to her office. She came back shortly after with a mirror, which she handed to Hermione. "Tell me when they're how they used to be," the matron told her sternly, before going back to shrinking them.

Carefully, Hermione watched in the mirror as her teeth slowly reduced in size. She had the thought of stopping her when they were truly their original size, but that was tossed out the window fast. Instead, she let Madame Pomfrey carry on nearly another centimeter before she stopped her.

"You're free to go now, Ms. Granger," Madame Pomfrey dismissed her. Not sparing a look back, she bustled back into her office.

Busy looking at her normal sized front teeth, Hermione missed Lowe smiling. She definitely noticed however, when the professor chuckled.

"You find this funny?" Hermione deadpanned, rather than snarling as she may have usually. She couldn't bring herself to be in a bad mood at all after achieving one of her largest goals.

"Not funny, per se," Lowe replied, shaking her head, "It brings back memories. When I was around your age, I was hit with that spell. Of course, instead of my front teeth, it hit my already over-large canines and the whole house made fun of me even after I'd gotten them shrunk down to a normal size... It was awful." Despite her last sentence, she smiled, showing her (still rather long) canine teeth.

Hermione returned the smile weakly, nervousness welling up. Her hands twisted in her skirt as she tried to figure out what to say. Oliver's words calmed her when they replayed in her mind. _"Yeh'll know when yeh see her."_

"I'm sorry," both witches apologized at the same time.

Amused, Lowe quirked an eyebrow and gestured for Hermione to go first.

"I was rude and disrespectful to you, and I'm sorry for jumping to conclusions," the Gryffindor continued after a gulp, "I should have remembered that you were a little out of it when you did it, but I was busy being a self-righteous prat." She felt remarkably like a more verbally capable Ron.

There was an almost Dumbledore-ish sparkle in the professor's eyes as she kept her gaze on Hermione's lips. Lowe nodded, before replying concisely, "Thank you. I understand why you were angry and my actions warranted it, addle-brained or not. I apologize for using legilimency on you at all."

They shared a look then, and Hermione felt her lips lift into a small smile. "Is it too late to ask for your help with this dream?" she asked hopefully.

"I have a class next period," Lowe sighed, rolling her eyes playfully, "This conversation will take longer than we have now. Will dinnertime work? We can eat in my office, if that's alright with you."

"It is," Hermione agreed, feeling almost shy. It was startling how much their relationship had changed in ten minutes. Perhaps she should actually thank Malfoy for that hex?

That thought was quickly stamped out. It would undoubtedly make him even more unbearable.

"I advise you skip the rest of the period," Lowe told her, getting to her feet gracefully from the uncomfortable chair, "You don't usually have a good reason to, after all." With a mischievous wink, she left.

For a moment, Hermione sat in shock. Did a teacher just tell her to not go to class? She shook herself out of her shock relatively quickly, deciding that it sounded wonderful. Perhaps Moira Lowe wasn't so bad after all.

* * *

As he leaned against a wall across from the entrance to the kitchens, Cedric tried to not wonder what was keeping Hermione and Oliver. 'They have their own lives,' he chastised himself, 'They probably have a good reason for being late.' It didn't help his mounting anxiety.

When he glanced at his watch, he realized that it had only been a minute and a half since he last looked. "They're going to be the death of me," he muttered to himself.

"I'd rather you not talk about your death, thank you," reprimanded Hermione from the entrance to the corridor. Despite how her shoulder sagged under the weight of her bag, her stride toward him was swift. She was most likely used to it.

"Glad you got the message," Cedric returned, grinning.

Oliver sprinted from behind the witch. "I need to hide," he hissed, glancing over his shoulder.

"What happened?" Hermione questioned, readjusting her bag.

Keeping half a brain on the conversation, Cedric crossed the hall to the fruit painting. He tickled the pear in a practiced motion.

"I jinxed the ferret, Malfoy," Oliver explained hurriedly, "Heard him sneerin' about hexin' yeh and I lost my temper."

Cedric was torn between being amused and concerned. In the end, he pulled Oliver in the portrait hole right after it opened. Once a spluttering and blushing Hermione was inside, he closed it again. "You should be fine in here," the Hufflepuff told his fellow captain, "Unless they saw you. Then you're out of luck."

"They didn't," Oliver smiled, a satisfied gleam in his eyes.

A mob of house elves had surrounded them while they were busy talking, all staring up at them with eager eyes. Once the three fell quiet, the only house elf with clothes piped up, "What can we get for masters and mistress?"

The students all looked at one another. "Turkey, chicken and roast beef sandwiches," Cedric requested, "And pumpkin juice and crisps." He had been raised to be polite to everyone, there was no sense in his mind to keep it to only wizards.

Bowing and bobbing their heads, the house elves rushed off. They were actually kind of cute, if anything that alien looking could be.

Casually, Cedric strolled to the nearest table. In the hall above it equated to the Gryffindor table, he estimated.

Hermione slid onto the bench to his right and Oliver to hers, both gazing around with interest. A bubble of pride swelled up in Cedric's chest; it was difficult for anything but books and quidditch to keep their attention. "How do you like the kitchens?" he asked, setting an elbow on the table.

"This is wonderful!" Hermione smiled, turning her attention back to him, "I didn't know students could get in here!"

"That's because we're not supposed to," teased Oliver from her other side. He copied Cedric's stance, but leaned his temple on his hand rather than his chin. It was unfair how he had the unpretentious sort of charm, the kind that allowed him to get away with the worst blunders imaginable if he needed to.

On the other hand, Hermione gave them both an unamused look. "If we get caught, you kidnapped me," she told them blandly.

"We won't," Cedric assured her, "The teachers don't ever come in here unless there's a problem. Like Peeves terrorizing the house elves or something."

That was when a tray piled high with sandwiches arrived with a large platter of crisps right behind it. The pumpkin juice and three plates and goblets came not even a minute later, clutched by two more house elves. They were dismissed, leaving the three to themselves.

As they ate, Cedric observed. It was truly amazing how much information could be gleaned from the simple gestures a person makes, like eating. Oliver had a tendency to make sure that others ate at least something before he even started, indicating a caring and protective nature. Hermione was very diverse with what she ate- and her general interests.

More than that, he couldn't help noticing them both in a way that most of Hogwarts would deem to be wrong. In Hermione's case, she was seen as too young for him- only fifteen, while he was technically an adult. Oliver needed no explanation: they were pureblood wizards, expected to produce children, which not even magic could make happen between two males.

Despite his reputation as being almost perfect, Cedric was only human. He was a bit of a push over, a people pleaser and sometimes too loyal for his own good. If his parents knew what was going through his head whenever he saw Oliver or Hermione, it would probably break their hearts.

Then again, he couldn't help it. He was captivated by Hermione's wild hair that seemed to have a life of its own and the open, honest grin that Oliver boasted. Even before this year, he'd had a fascination with the Gryffindor Keeper. When Hermione appeared terrified after meeting him, his interest was captured.

'What's so wrong with having feelings for either of them?' he questioned himself, lips curving up as he watched Hermione laugh at something Oliver had said, 'It won't go anywhere with him, he's either straight or too scared to take a chance. She's mature for her age. It could work if-'

"Cedric?" His attention shifted fully outward when Oliver called.

"Yeah?" Cedric returned. Feeling a little risque, he gave the older boy a wink.

Oliver's face colored brightly. "Just makin' sure yeh were still with us," he mumbled.

With a raised eyebrow Hermione looked from one to the other. Once she found what she was looking for, she rolled her eyes and took a sip of pumpkin juice. "Boys," she muttered to herself.

A grin slowly surfaced on Cedric's face. Yes, he could see something starting with either of them sooner or later. "Now just to get up the courage to ask," sniggered an annoying little voice in his head.

Probably later.

* * *

Classes seemed to pass by in a whiz of words, half-taken notes, and strange thoughts after lunch. Harry was gone somewhere, leaving Hermione to herself and a foul-tempered Ron right up until dinner. It normally would have been a terrible combination.

Normal was not the word to describe that day, however. Between the hex, her reconciliation with Lowe and lunch, this was one of the least ordinary days Hermione had ever experienced. It didn't help that she had come across information that every person in the rumor mill would give their right hand for.

Cedric Diggory and Oliver Wood. Attraction simmered between the two, with an undercurrent of sexual attraction. It had taken sitting between them to feel it, although the possibility had struck her mind before.

'Those two together would be every fangirl's fantasy come true,' Hermione mused as she traipsed from Transfiguration down to the ground floor.

It was strange that she didn't have any resentment for either of them. She was sure that she was growing feelings for both of them, after all, and it would make sense if this development made her unhappy. But it didn't.

If anything, she felt happy for them. A little left out (because who wouldn't want to be in the middle of that?), but it was bearable. Perhaps she could even give them a nudge in the right direction.

All thoughts of getting them together were stopped when Hermione reached the creepy corridor leading to Lowe's rooms. She took a deep breath, held it and let it out. 'For them,' she resolved.

She stepped into the dim hall.

* * *

-EOC-

It should be illegal, how much I enjoy messing with the characters. There's an actual German word for this sort of thing, actually! Scheherazadenfreude: perverse joy in the suffering of a character in the story you are writing/telling.

Please remember to review!

-Thrae


	6. Agreements and Technicalities

Thank you to my wonderful reviewers: Guest, kaylamarie2012, asiantotheleft and Whisper Gypsy!

Note: I've altered the little known about Alastor Moody's family to suit my purposes. The character himself is going to be pretty much the same, however.

Disclaimer: I own nothing under trademark, only Moira Lowe, Titanica Pitman and Clodagh Bride.

* * *

Chapter Six: Agreements and Technicalities

Again, Hermione stood in front of the yellow door with the disappearing staircase. Again, she poised her fist to knock.

This time however, she stopped. Lowe was speaking to someone and if it were possible, Hermione would have backed down the stairs again to give them more privacy. As it was, she was stuck on the stoop.

"You should leave, Moira," Moody growled, "You won't be able to control yourself."

Lowe snorted contemptuously. "You of all people should know that I can and will," she told her fellow teacher loftily, "My heritage doesn't control me, Alastor."

Was Mad-Eye Moody a blood purist? To Hermione that didn't make any sense. Curiosity and the burn of an unanswered question destroyed any attempt she had made at not eavesdropping.

"Not even around blood?" Moody questioned intensely.

"Especially around blood," Lowe responded icily, "Now if you don't mind, a student should be arriving soon."

Hermione's heart raced. 'What in the world does that mean?' she thought, bewildered. Automatically a list started compiling in her mind of creatures (especially humanoids) that boasted a known association with blood.

"She's already here," Moody grumbled, "Probably overheard half the conversation."

There was a brief silence before Lowe sighed, "Come in, Ms. Granger."

Sheepishly, Hermione opened the door and stepped inside. "I would have gone back downstairs when I heard you were busy, but the staircase..." she explained, though she trailed off.

It was creepy how Moody was staring at her. It was like she was a puzzle he was trying to figure out despite it being covered in mud. The narrowed eyes, especially the electric blue one, sent shivers down Hermione's spine.

"It's alright, Alastor was just leaving," Lowe smiled to her. Only the tightness of her jaw indicated any discomfort at all. It was strange, considering the nature of the conversation Hermione had overheard.

Moody gave them both long, searching looks before he limped toward the door. Once he was half way onto the step, he growled, "Alright then Moira, on your head be it. Good day, Granger." It was a relief when he shut the door behind him.

The tension died down immediately, but Hermione still felt awkward. She took a seat at the bistro set and folded her hands on her lap politely. Several questions came to mind, but she forced them all down.

"I really hate unexpected visitors," Lowe said conversationally, taking the opposite seat, "Especially from former Aurors. I've never been the most scrupulous person, after all."

"That's, err, interesting," Hermione responded, mentally wincing at her lack of tact.

Luckily, Lowe just seemed amused by it. "Have a drink and let's get on to the relevant things," she suggested, "We don't have all night after all." She put a charm on a long black quill, causing it to stand independently on a piece of parchment. "Testing, testing, I am Moira Lowe."

The quill wrote in familiar, ornate handwriting, "_Testing, testing, I am Moira Lowe._"

"Can you tell me about your nightmare now?" requested Lowe. When she saw Hermione's gaze lingering uncertainly on her quill, she explained, "This is in case I find something relevant later, I don't want to have to keep bothering you. I'll encode it and destroy the original later, but for now I need every detail you can give me from the moon phase if you saw it to what the objects of your dream were wearing."

With a deep breath, Hermione launched into the most complete explanation she had given anyone thus far. From the beginning to the end, she told everything she had experienced in the dream plus her conjectures. The most startling that she had realized jut a few nights ago, was the presence of Peter Pettigrew.

"I only saw his face for a split second when he cast the killing curse," Hermione almost mumbled, closing her eyes to play through the moment again, "But I think it was him. Peter Pettigrew."

"Officially, he died years ago," Lowe pointed out, "Killed by Sirius Black."

"I met Sirius at the end of last year," Hermione informed the professor grimly, opening her eyes again, "He's innocent. The Potters switched Secret Keepers from Sirius to Pettigrew to be less obvious, and he betrayed them. Pettigrew performed the blasting curse, cut off his own finger and hid in his animagus form- a rat- right up until last year."

The lines of Lowe's face were smooth as always, but it was obvious by the look in her eyes that she was disturbed. She took a controlled sip of her chai and set it down delicately before she spoke. "I always knew something was wrong with the official statement," she sighed, "I was years ahead of them and in a different house, but even I knew they were attached at the hip. So you think it's their old tag-along that is going to kill Mr. Diggory, under the orders of someone... less than human."

"Yes," Hermione responded resolutely.

This time, Lowe's face showed just how disturbed she was. No explanation was offered, however, and she swallowed before saying through pursed lips, "I have a thought who that may be, but... I need to check with some contacts before I say anything. I don't want to cause undue alarm.

"As for everything else, we should keep a careful watch on Mr. Diggory and Mr. Potter," Lowe recommended seriously, "I'll snoop into the tournament to see if there will be a graveyard involved and what the trophy looks like. You should do everything you can to prepare your champions, although I think you should keep the reason to yourself."

"It's a bit late for that," Hermione disagreed dryly, "I already told Cedric the basics of the nightmare. He's not stupid, he'll figure out sooner or later that it's him."

"Then we'd best keep him from that conclusion as long as possible," Lowe smirked, "Or rather, _you_ had best. I don't have an excuse to be around him much, after all."

Taken aback, Hermione glared at the professor. "You don't mean lie to him!" she exclaimed.

"I never said that," Lowe pointed out almost innocently, "A little misdirection wouldn't hurt, though."

Hermione's jaw hung slightly open, although her lips were closed. When she did open her lips, she questioned, "Do you have no set morals?" It was most likely out of line, but when it came to Lowe, she always found herself beyond caring.

The clock on the desk chimed nine times. A look out the window showed nothing new; the sun had been down since before dinner time. "My, it's late," the professor stated carelessly, "You'd best get back to your common room."

As Hermione was ushered out of the office and then the classroom, she didn't overlook that her question went unanswered. It was surely on purpose.

There was no unease in her mind or heart about confiding in Lowe, however. Despite the seeming moral ambiguity she possessed, something told Hermione she was trustworthy. The same thing that whispered of Oliver and Cedric's attraction, that pointed out Harry's interest in Cho, that screamed to not let Mad-Eye Moody anywhere nearer than necessary.

* * *

Operation Get Cedric and Oliver Together was briefly put on hold by a Witch Weekly article, to Hermione's chagrin. It was supposedly about the Triwizard Tournament, but was technically more of a retelling of Harry's life story. Fleur and Viktor's names were crunched into the last paragraph and misspelled, while Cedric wasn't even mentioned.

'Not to mention that now I'm Harry's nonexistent girlfriend,' she thought, less than enthusiastic about the comments that had been hurled at her all day. The Slytherins especially had been cruel about it, not that Hermione had expected anything else.

By dinner, she was sick and tired of it. Whether it was people asking curiously or sneering it into her face, enough was enough. So when a voice teased, "Cheating on me with Potter? For shame," she snapped,

"Considering that I'm not dating _anyone_ at the moment, no!"

A pair of hands gripped her shoulders firmly, large calloused hands. The smells of fresh parchment and spicy aftershave wafted over her, calming her enough to simply glare over her shoulder. The look melted off her face, however.

"Cedric!" Hermione exclaimed, rolling her eyes as she went back to her dinner, "I nearly hexed you!"

His smile was infectious as he slid onto the bench beside her. "That bad, huh?" he asked, taking a drink from her goblet.

"Hey, that's mine!" Hermione scowled indignantly. She crossed her arms over her chest, displeased.

A hand took her fork and stabbed a piece of potato. "We noticed, sparrow," Oliver informed her sagely before he ate the potato piece. "Mmm, good today," he mumbled once he swallowed.

Feeling miffed, Hermione glared at both boys. She could feel the stares of the whole hall on them, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. "You do know that this is going to create even more rumors, right?" she sniffed.

"We can't visit our favorite witch in the castle?" Cedric questioned, smiling disarmingly. He took the fork from in front of him and like Oliver, speared a potato cube.

"Don't let Professor Sprout overhear that." Harry slid onto the bench across from Hermione with a raised eyebrow. His gaze slid from Oliver on her right to Cedric on her left, nodding to each. If he was a little curt with the Hufflepuff, he couldn't be blamed much.

Cedric's smile was genuine and disarming. "Potter," he greeted the younger champion, before launching off, "I know you didn't enter yourself and I don't hold anything against you. Actually, I was wondering if you wanted to work together."

When Harry stared blankly at the Hufflepuff, Hermione couldn't help but smirk. 'How did I not see this coming?' she asked herself, watching her friend try to regain control over his face. It was actually rather entertaining how he opened and closed his mouth several times, a wonderful (accidental) imitation of a fish.

"Is this some kind of joke?" Harry finally blurted out, looking from face to face.

The sound of Oliver striking his own forehead startled Hermione. "Ah bugger," he mumbled, "I'm sorry, I forgot to pass it on..."

It was a well known fact that Hermione Granger disliked being confused. Mystification was a rather better word for her feelings right then, however, as she started, "What in Godric's name-"

"What the skrewts-" Harry began, before cutting himself off much as his female friend had.

To Hermione's left, Cedric snickered. "That's one I haven't heard before," he mused, before leaning forward to say to Oliver, "Don't worry about it this time. It's not like it'll kill me."

It took conscious effort to keep her hands from trembling. It was impossible for Hermione to keep from going pale at his word choice, however. To her right, she felt Oliver tense up.

"Last Friday, Ollie here ambushed me in the Charms corridor to talk to me about you," Cedric explained to Harry with a note of teasing in his voice, "He told me about how you didn't put your name in and you seemed just as shocked as anybody else when your name came out. I decided I believed him."

"Err, thanks," Harry said awkwardly.

"Somebody is trying to hurt you, it seems like," Cedric continued more seriously, "And you seem like an alright bloke. I think we'd both have a better chance at this thing if we work together and it'll be a Hogwarts victory either way. Are you up for it?"

Confounded didn't even begin to describe Harry's expression. "I, uh, think so," he replied unsteadily, shooting Hermione a bewildered look.

She smiled brilliantly back, delighted at this turn of events. "I'll help you practice," she volunteered, feeling strangely optimistic.

"Aye," Oliver concurred, "I'll as well."

Harry smiled weakly. "Thanks," he told them quietly, green eyes shining with hope for the first time in far too long.

* * *

That evening, Harry finally got around to asking, "What's between you, Oliver and Cedric?"

Hermione looked up from her Charms essay with a raised eyebrow. When she saw that Harry was serious, she set it aside carefully. "I don't know," she answered honestly, "Whatever is going on, it just... happened. I can't explain. It just... is."

Understanding glimmered in Harry's eyes. "I worry about you, you know," he told her, "You're my best friend, 'Mione, and I'm not sure either of them is good enough for you." He gave her a small smile, reaching over to squeeze her hand.

"I think we're thinking different things, Harry," Hermione smirked, shaking her head, although she gripped his hand in return, "I'm actually planning to get them together."

Harry's hand dropped out of hers as his eyes went wide. "What?" he returned, disbelieving.

"When you spend as much time around them as I have lately, it's obvious," Hermione snorted, casting a glance around. When she was sure that their conversation wouldn't be overheard, she continued, "The unresolved sexual tension is suffocating, honestly. And the way they look at each other when they think nobody's looking... They're not as slick as they think."

"You've got to be joking," Harry muttered before raising his voice to question, "You haven't noticed the way they look at you?"

"Like a little sister," Hermione shrugged. The memory of an almost-kiss came to mind however, and she added, "For Cedric, anyway."

"And Oliver?" Harry prodded.

The look Hermione cast him was unamused. She didn't know the answer and was a little frightened of it. "I think we should all meet up to practice your defensive spells soon," she changed the subject pointedly, "We don't know what's coming and you need to start preparing."

Although he immediately went a little pale, Harry nodded firmly. "Anytime we're not in class," he agreed, "It would be nice to know what we're supposed to do though..."

"We'll just have to do our best," Hermione sighed, feeling a headache coming on, "And pray it's enough."

* * *

Only on Monday did the four get together to practice- Harry had found a suitable place after asking around in his classes. When Hermione saw that it was down the first floor corridor however, she snorted.

"What?" asked Harry, hearing the unladylike noise.

"Are we going to Lowe's classroom?" Hermione asked, following him down the corridor.

"She said she'd show it to us," Harry shrugged, "It's probably close by." He turned the crystal doorknob when they reached it and held the door open for Hermione politely.

When she stepped through she smiled in greeting to Lowe, who was sitting on one of the tables. Beside the professor was a girl in muggle clothing who she vaguely recognized. The girl's long rust red hair hung in front of a pretty, if a little pale, face and sharp eyes examined the new comers coolly.

"Right on time," Lowe commented with a satisfied nod. She then hopped off the table and waved her hand at the girl beside her, introducing her, "This is my niece, Titanica Pitman. She's a fourth year Ravenclaw. Titanica, these are Hermione Granger, Cedric Diggory, Harry Potter and... I'm sorry, I don't know you."

"Oliver Wood, seventh year," the Gryffindor Keeper put in politely from the back of the group, "Nice to meet yeh."

"Likewise," Lowe chimed with a small smile, "Time to show you the room then." With her long, quick strides she reached the statue of the bearded man in no time. When she stood in front of it, she announced, "Aquitania."

A slight grinding sound echoed like when the staircase to the office opened, but nothing seemed to happen. "The stairs go down this time," Lowe informed them with a smirk, stepping into the niche with the statue. She gestured for them to follow her and surely enough, she began to descend.

Pitman followed her aunt wordlessly. On the other hand, the champions, Oliver and Hermione all looked at each other as if wondering, "Are we really doing this?" Cedric especially looked unsure of this development.

Surprisingly, Hermione was the first to start down the staircase. Harry followed right behind and then the other two, their footsteps echoing loudly in the small spiral stairwell. The temperature dropped slightly as they went down, making Hermione glad she had worn a sweater that day.

It felt like forever before they emerged at an open door, this one painted red. On the other side of the doorway, it looked like an armory surrounding a large raised stone platform: in cases, on the walls and on stands were muggle weapons of every type Hermione had ever heard of and a few she hadn't. A display of antique guns especially caught her attention.

From a rack of staff weapons on the left side of the door, Lowe instructed, "The raised platform is all yours, kids. You can come in here any time you need to, jut be sure to put a silencing charm on the door and near wall if you decide to come in after curfew."

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione caught a glimpse of Cedric and Oliver trading looks. If she were still unfamiliar with Lowe, she would have been surprised too. As it was, she simply smiled and called, "Thank you professor!"

Upon climbing onto the stone platform, Hermione immediately took control. "Oliver and I will be sending spells at you," she informed Cedric and Harry bossily, "You focus on blocking them. Any shield spells you have are fine."

"Yes professor," joked Cedric. For that, he had to duck a quickly cast stinging hex.

Thus it began. It was expected that Cedric would know more charms than Harry, but the sheer variety he was able to employ was impressive. He even managed to cast an admirable rebound shield that knocked Oliver's jelly legs jinx back at him.

As she cast spells, Hermione watched her boys fondly. It was a sheer miracle that this was happening at all. Just last year Cedric was "the enemy" and Oliver only knew her from waterproofing Harry's glasses during the quidditch match. Now here they were practicing for the deadliest international event of the wizarding world, where two of them were competitors. All thanks to a reoccurring nightmare and a Death Eater riot.

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw movement. Taking a short break, she turned her head to see what it was and found herself blinking with surprise. Fascinated, she dropped her spell casting stance to watch.

Pitman and Lowe were sparring the muggle way with short swords. From the look of it, they had been doing this their whole lives; they moved their whole bodies gracefully like they were dancing, without one choppy movement. They each seemed to know exactly where the other would move next and parried or attacked with lightning speed, swords clanging loudly against one another.

A sudden tickling sensation came over Hermione and she doubled over, giggling. Figuring that she had been hit with a spell, she muttered through her laughter, "Finite." Once the jinx was countered, she turned around to face the boys with a raised eyebrow.

They _all_ looked too innocent for their expressions to be real. Once again Cedric was humming something like "Once Upon a December" while Harry busily wiped his wand on his shirt and Oliver made an annoying popping sound with his lips. Cedric's smile in particular was mischievous.

"That's it," Hermione growled, whipping her wand out in front of her, "You're going down!" She sent a leg locker curse at Cedric for revenge.

Once again he used a rebound shield, making the spell hit Oliver. When the Keeper tripped and fell on his face, Cedric had the gall to laugh.

Harry's chuckled didn't go unnoticed. He quickly blocked a jelly legs jinx from Oliver, firing off a disarming charm directly after he took down his shield.

The four-way duel occupied Hermione's entire scope of focus. It was difficult ducking, blocking, hexing and occasionally reversing spells with them. While Oliver and Cedric were seventh and sixth years respectively, Harry was enormously talented; she relished the challenge.

"Oi, it's nearly curfew!" Lowe called.

Hermione started in the middle of casting a shield and was hit by another tickling jinx. Once again she reversed it and stood tall, though this time she didn't retaliate.

"I guess we'd better stop for tonight," Cedric decided, wiping his forehead with the back off his hand. That he actually worked up a sweat made Hermione feel justifiably proud. Everyone looked a little sticky and she sure felt it.

They all left the room shortly, feet dragging up the stairs. Now that the adrenaline was fading out of Hermione's system, her arms felt boneless with fatigue. Walking the whole way up to Gryffindor Tower was going to be horrible.

"I need to work out more," she heard Harry mutter in front of her, "This is like the basilisk all over again." He stumbled over one of the stairs but caught himself quickly.

"That's one story I've yet to hear," Oliver called from behind Hermione as she ascended the landing.

"Later," Harry told him, "Much, much, later." He had never liked talking about his accomplishments, something Hermione had always liked about him.

The staircase slid back into place with the grinding sound again as Lowe and Pitman reentered the classroom. "Now you know where the dueling room is," the professor told them, the biggest smile on her face that Hermione had yet seen, "You're welcome to anything in there except the antique guns, just be sure to get me first. Come back anytime."

"Thanks professor," Cedric grinned. The rest echoed him.

The three Gryffindors and single Hufflepuff gathered near the corner of the room. "That went really well," Hermione encouraged them, "I think we should make it a point to practice, maybe three times per week?"

The boys agreed resoundingly. "How about Sunday, Tuesday and Thursday after dinner?" suggested Cedric, eyes sparkling.

"I'm free," Oliver shrugged, "Since quidditch was canceled for the year." Briefly he pouted, but not even a minute later he sported a lopsided grin.

"Same," Harry nodded, "I think we should keep it to ourselves where we practice, though. Professor Lowe isn't supposed to be helping us." He cast a grateful look over his shoulder to the former quidditch player.

"Showing us a place to practice isn't against the rules," Cedric countered, almost smirking, "Even if it is a hidden room that only she had access to."

Said like that, Hermione wasn't sure if she agreed. She decided to not say anything however: the room was exactly what they needed.

The gleam in Harry's eyes made them look like emeralds. "Let's go," he suggested, "We don't want to get caught by Filch."

They said their goodbyes to Lowe and Pitman before traversing down the first floor corridor. It didn't seem nearly so foreboding with her boys around her, Hermione realized with a smile. 'Yes, they are mine,' she accepted, looking from one to the other fondly, 'Not literally in any case, but still.'

A hand tugged on Hermione's sleeve from behind. It was Pitman, she saw when she turned around.

The Ravenclaw gave her a small smile as she handed her a note. "From Aunt Moira," she told the other witch quietly before she hurried out of the corridor ahead of her.

Somewhat puzzled, Hermione opened the note to read in the light of the nearest torch.

_Ms. Granger,_

_Behind the statue of the woman with the tiara is my personal library. Yourself and Mr. Wood are welcome to use it, and if Mr. Potter or Mr. Diggory follows you in there, so be it. The books are charmed to not be able to pass outside the classroom, so you'd best bring plenty of blank parchment. The password is Empress of Britain._

_If you're ever unable to reach me in an emergency, Titanica and my other niece Clodagh Bride (a third year Gryffindor) are trustworthy. They've also expressed some interest in helping with research or practice if you need it._

_Best Wishes,_

_Prof. Moira Lowe_

By the time she finished the note, Hermione admitted to squealing. And she may or may not have danced a little bit. In an outstanding mood now, she disregarded the snickering she heard from one of the boys.

"What've yeh got there?" Oliver inquired.

"She's giving us access to her private library!" Hermione whispered excitedly.

Harry and Cedric traded astounded looks. "Now _that_ is cheating," the Hufflepuff announced.

Having read the note over her shoulder, Oliver shook his head. "It's the sparrow and me, she invited to use it," he countered with a silly grin, "She just said that if either of yeh followed us in there, then so be it. Not cheatin' at all."

Again, Harry and Cedric traded looks. "She had to have been a Slytherin," Harry inferred dryly.

The quartet made it into the entrance hall quickly after that, all beaming despite their fatigue. "See you tomorrow," Cedric told them as he split off toward the basement.

Hermione watched until he disappeared around a corner, a silly smile on her face. 'So not fair,' she mentally griped, though there wasn't any real frustration behind it, 'He can even walk handsomely.'

Using several secret passageways, the Gryffindors made it into the tower not even a minute before curfew. Several students looked up, but nearly all of them went back to their own business once they saw who it was. Only Lavender and Parvati kept sneaking unsubtle glances at them, obviously itching for new gossip.

Hermione didn't care. Everything was going too perfectly for petty gossip to ruin her mood. "That was great," she hummed cheerfully, "Good night."

"Night, 'Mione." "Sweet dreams, sparrow."

As she ascended the stairs to her dorm, Hermione smiled. Operation Keep Harry and Cedric Alive was off to a good start and Operation Get Cedric and Oliver Together would soon begin.

She expertly ignored the pang in her chest at the thought.

* * *

-EOC-

In case anyone has picked up on it, yes, I am a Titanic nut. Thus the inclusion of the surnames Bride, Lowe and Pitman and the given name Titanica. It's a very minor tie in to my Titanic fic, "A Life Saving Dream", but you don't need to read it to understand this at all.

If anyone wants to know, the font I think of Moira writing in is called Hobbiton Brushhand.

Thank you for the reviews! Please keep them coming!

-Thrae


	7. Moody's Advice

Thank you, my absolutely wonderful reviewers: Guest, asiantotheleft and Whisper Gypsy!

Whisper Gypsy: Yes, that was Barty. I'm sticking with the book in that he and Peter Pettigrew overpowered the real Moody the day before term. You're welcome for the shout-out. I love getting them, so I figure that it would be nice to give them!

asiantotheleft: I don't blame you for not trusting Lowe. I'm not even sure _I_ trust her!

Disclaimer: I own nothing under trademark. Only Moira Lowe, Titanica Pitman and Clodagh Bride belong to me.

* * *

Chapter Seven: Moody's Advice

It was Defense Against the Dark Arts time again, and this time it was completely ridiculous to Cedric. Seeing the Unforgivable Curses was one thing. Them being cast on students was a completely different one.

It almost made him ill watching his classmates do things that they normally would never even think of doing. They had recited poetry, declared their undying love for the teacher's desk, made dust angels on the floor and his friend Ian Polkes was currently in the process of cartwheeling around the room. The very thought behind the spell was sick.

"Alright Polkes," Moody growled, releasing the sixth year, "As I expected."

Ian was dazed as he wandered over to Cedric, his eyes still glassy although they were back to their normal sky blue now. The milky white they had been was possibly the creepiest thing he had ever seen.

"You alright mate?" Cedric asked, clapping him on the back more gently than usual.

Mutely, Ian nodded. He sat down rather heavily on the bench that was pushed against the wall, rather pale.

"Diggory," called Moody lowly, "You're next." He gestured to a spot in front of him with one grizzled hand.

Apprehensively, Cedric strode to the stone indicated. He clutched his wand in the pocket of his robe for reassurance. 'He won't hurt me,' he told himself firmly, 'He's a teacher. He won't let me get hurt.'

"But he _will_ embarrass you to kingdom come," stated a little voice in the back of his head. Cedric hated how it was obviously telling the truth.

"Get ready, Diggory," warned Moody not even a second before he cast, "Imperio!"

Suddenly, it felt like cotton was stuffed into Cedric's head. All his worries and thoughts floated away and the feeling of complete peace laid over him. It was so nice...

"Sing," urged a voice from in his mind, "Sing for me."

Unable to think of a reason why he shouldn't, Cedric opened his mouth. "Dancing bears, painted wings, things I almost remember," he sang the first thing that came to mind, "And a song someone sings, once upon a Dece-ember..."

"No!" shouted the little voice that always told him the truth after the fact, "That's Hermione's song!"

"It's okay, you can sing it," urged the new voice in his head, "Keep singing..."

The hazy out line of a young woman in a white dress came to mind. 'No, I don't do it justice,' Cedric decided upon remembering a little of her voice, 'I don't want to sing this anymore.'

"Sing," commanded the intruding voice.

'I don't want to,' Cedric told it. He strained to keep his vocal cords under his control and not ruin that special song. He heard a strained warble come from his throat.

"SING!"

'NO!'

Suddenly everything was clear again and the contented feeling was gone. Cedric was once again the center of attention and his head pounded something terrible. 'Yet another reason to disagree with his teaching method,' he thought, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment.

"See there? Diggory resisted!" roared Moody to the rest of the class, "He fought it! Good, good. Again!'

It took six more tries before Cedric was able to throw it off completely. By then he had the migraine of his life and was quite seriously thinking of cutting his next class. Thanks to the throbbing in his head, it sounded like Moody was shouting when he ordered, "Explain how you did it, Diggory."

It was rather tempting to lie. He couldn't lie for a plugged galleon. "I, err, that song that I'd started singing is special," Cedric mumbled, "I didn't want to ruin it, so I tried to stop. It just... got easier after that." He shrugged, wishing he had long hair to hide his burning cheeks behind.

"That's right," Moody agreed, before lecturing, "You have to find a _reason_ to stop to be completely effective! Will power alone won't get you very far with this curse..."

The bell rang and student started to gather their things. They all whispered uncomfortably loudly, stealing glances at Cedric constantly.

"Homework for everybody but Diggory! A roll of parchment on the signs and effects of the curse and how to break free from it!" shouted Moody over the noise, "Now bugger off, all of you!"

When Cedric made to leave however, a gloved hand rested on his shoulder. "Stay after a minute, Diggory," growled Moody.

The hairs on the back of his neck rose, but he nodded. "Go ahead," Cedric urged Ian when he made to stay behind, "I'll catch up soon." He didn't feel the smile that he gave his friend. It was hard to when he was going to be alone with the wizard who had used an illegal curse on him seven times.

Slowly, Ian nodded. "See you in Transfiguration," he said, before leaving.

When the door closed behind Ian, uncomfortable silence fell in the classroom. "Is there anything in particular, professor?" asked Cedric politely. He shifted from one foot to the other nervously as Moody's electric blue eye scanned him.

"I heard you're working together with Potter," Moody told him. With a wave of his wand he restored the desks to their original positions in the classroom.

Not sure where this was going, Cedric simply nodded.

"Smart thinking there Diggory," Moody told him approvingly, "His friend Granger has a brain the size of a trunk and probably just as filled as one."

"She's certainly very intelligent," Cedric agreed cautiously.

Leaning in closer to Cedric, Moody warned, "She's also getting very buddy-buddy with Moira Lowe. You'll want to watch out for her, nasty pieces of work the Lowes are."

"Sir?" Cedric asked, frowning. While Professor Lowe was a little too stoic for his complete comfort, he hadn't noticed anything too bad about her. Besides the room full of weapons and obvious skill in using them.

"Moira is heavily into the Dark Arts. Blood magic, nasty stuff," Moody growled menacingly, "Not surprising seeing who her father is. I spent half my life trying to catch them and they always slid through my fingers like the snakes they are. Be careful around her, boy. Constant vigilance."

Cedric froze. "What?" he whispered, head pounding worse than before, "Dumbledore wouldn't have hired her if-"

"He hired Snape, didn't he?" Moody interrupted, "He likes giving second chances, Dumbledore." He leered at Cedric before turning his back and limping over to his desk.

The Hufflepuff barely noticed. He was too busy thinking and pondering everything he knew about Moira Lowe. It wasn't much, but it was enough to lend some truth to Moody's words: her very Slytherinesque sneakiness and disregard for the rules, her usual lack of expression, the highly varied (and most likely illegal) collection of weapons... It struck him that no matter what the weather or surroundings, she always wore long sleeves.

"You see what I mean now," Moody said, deadly serious, "Get to class now Diggory, and remember what I said."

It was impossible for him to flee faster unless he ran or flew.

* * *

At dinner Hermione sat beside Oliver and across from Harry as usual, though she kept an eye out for Cedric. He only showed up half way through dinner, looking worn out. With a drag to his steps, he sat at the end of the Hufflepuff table and began to fill his plate unenthusiastically.

Hermione frowned. 'That isn't right,' she thought, watching him absently, 'Is he hurt...?'

"Is somethin' wrong, sparrow?" asked Oliver, noticing her inattention.

"Cedric," she replied, worry beginning to gnaw at her, "He looks ill." The thought of him being cursed came to mind, but it was put out relatively quickly.

Harry looked over his shoulder and Oliver craned his neck to look. "He doesn't look good," the Keeper agreed.

The opportunity was too good to pass up for Hermione. 'Time to put my plan into action,' she thought before suggesting to Oliver, "You're finished eating. Why don't you go over and ask what happened?"

"Yeh're comin' with me," the Keeper insisted.

Hermione gave him a well-practiced look of exasperation. "Do you _want_ me irritated because of the rumors that will appear?" she sighed, "I've had enough and Cedric doesn't need them right now either."

Holding his hands up in surrender, Oliver raised an eyebrow at her. "Alright, alright," he muttered, "I'll go by myself." He pushed his plate away and barely missed kicking Hermione as he clambered to his feet.

When he was out of earshot, Harry whispered across the table, "You're serious about this, aren't you?"

"Of course!" Hermione hissed back, "Why wouldn't I be?"

Like Oliver, he surrendered. "How do you plan to do this?" Harry sighed.

Over his shoulder, Hermione watched with a smile as Oliver sat across the table from the object of his affections. "Leave them alone together as much as possible and drop hints," she said, satisfied, "Simple but effective."

As she ate, Hermione kept a close eye on her friends at the Hufflepuff table. Cedric was smiling a little and he animated with his hands as he spoke, although he still looked rather pale and drawn. Since Oliver's back was to her she couldn't infer very much on his end, but it was a good sign that he was leaning over the table. They were each interested in what the other had to say, at least.

Shortly after dessert appeared, she decided that they didn't need watching anymore. 'I don't need to be over there,' she told herself firmly, forcing herself to ignore the pull she felt, 'I only want to be over there because they're my friends and I want to make sure my plan succeeds. That's all.'

"I'm going to Lowe's library early," she informed Harry, getting up from the table, "You do remember the password, right?" It was time to leave sight of temptation.

"Queen of England?" asked Harry with a sheepish grin.

Rolling her eyes, Hermione huffed, though she was smiling slightly. "Empress of Britain," she corrected him. Hoisting her bag onto her shoulder, she told him, "See you there," before she walked quickly to the doors.

Once there however, she couldn't help looking over at the Hufflepuff table.

They were both looking at her, that glint in their eyes. It was the same one that Krum had looked at her with in the top box after the World Cup match: interest. Specifically, masculine interest that Hermione found it nearly impossible to believe was on her.

A shoulder bumped into her as someone came in the door. "Sorry," the girl murmured, looking at Hermione with an apologetic smile. It was Cho Chang, the pretty Ravenclaw Seeker.

"It's fine," Hermione told her with a tight smile. Disappointment welled up in her chest, but she pushed it down forcefully. With a last look at the Hufflepuff table, she left the hall.

After the first few times, the hall to Lowe's classroom wasn't nearly so intimidating. It was a little creepy and something still wasn't right about it, but the feelings were a whisper in the back of Hermione's mind now. She gripped the cool crystal doorknob and turned it firmly.

The room was empty this time, making Hermione's footfalls echo thunderously. The creak of the door closing behind her sent an instinctive shiver down her spine. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up and she wasn't quite sure why: not even the ghosts were around.

'I am a Gryffindor,' Hermione chided herself, 'There's no reason for me to be afraid of an empty room.'

Her pep talk over, she strode across the room to the further statue on the right. After checking the woman's head for the tiara to make sure, she said clearly, "Empress of Britain."

As expected, the staircase ground its way up the niche. Eagerly Hermione traversed it to a blue door, which she pushed open immediately. The smells of parchment and book leather welcomed her inside and made her smile widely.

The room wasn't very long or wide, just big enough for a table with four seats and two white leather recliners in front of a large fireplace. A large skylight spanned the entire width of the left wall from fifteen feet above Hermione's head to the ceiling ten feet above that. Below that were books, books and more books shelved on every section of the wall minus the chimney itself, even above the door. It surpassed Hermione's hopes.

She dropped her bag on the table top before she began to browse the books. Those on the fireplace wall were obviously fiction ("Love of the Scotsman", anyone?) while the titles on the wall with the door seemed to be muggle. The rest were wizarding nonfiction, mainly spell books with some encyclopedias mixed in. There didn't seem to be a particular order to them, which confused Hermione greatly. A set of spiral bound notebooks on the very bottom shelf caught her attention instantly.

'They're probably personal,' she thought, debating on whether to look through them or not, 'At the same time, she would have moved them if she didn't want them read...' She bit her lip, frowning.

The door opened, but it wasn't one of the boys. The rust red hair of Titanica Pitman was distinctive as the girl entered and closed the door behind her. "Hello," the Ravenclaw greeted quietly.

Hermione smiled briefly. "Did you really volunteer to help Harry and Cedric?" she asked, still surprised at the revelation.

From the other side of the room, Pitman answered, "I want Hogwarts to win." She was thumbing through books seemingly at random, Hermione saw out of the corner of her eye.

"We need all the help we can get," the Gryffindor told her, "Any and all help is appreciated."

"Are we looking for anything in particular?" Pitman questioned, tossing her hair out of her face, "I can probably find it faster."

Hermione took another look at the notebooks before deciding to leave them alone for now. "Anything that would be useful in a duel," she replied vaguely.

"Could you be a little more specific?" Pitman requested with an amused snort, "That's two thirds of the library."

"Spells we haven't covered yet in class but look relatively simple," Hermione decided after a moment.

By the time the door opened again, both witches had covered most of the table with books. "'Mione, you'll never believe-" Harry cut himself off upon seeing that she wasn't alone, instead greeting Pitman with an awkward, "Err, hello."

The Ravenclaw smiled shyly from behind her hair. "I'm helping with research," she explained quietly, holding up a thick tome as evidence.

"Ah," Harry replied, "Thanks." He sunk into the nearest seat before informing, "Cedric and Oliver will be up soon."

Hermione gave him a subtle glare that promised an earful later. She had been banking on Oliver not remembering the password and Cedric not knowing, thus forcing them to be alone in the dueling room.

Seemingly repentant, Harry shrugged. He pulled a book off the top of Hermione's stack and began to flip through it with interest.

Rolling her eyes, Hermione went back to her book. "Confundus Charm," she muttered to herself, brow furrowed with thought as she read through the effects and requirements of the spell. Deeming it acceptable, she wrote down the information.

When the door opened again, Cedric and Oliver entered conversing in whispers. Oliver's disappointment at Pitman's presence was palpable as he plopped down on one of the recliners. If Cedric felt opposed to the Ravenclaw, he hid it well as he took the other recliner.

"We have a list going of spells we think would be useful," Hermione told them, nodding in Pitman's direction, "Do you have any suggestions?"

"Maybe we should try to catch Harry up before we get into anythin' new to all of us," Oliver suggested sensibly, "It shouldn't take too long if we stick to duelin' spells."

Setting his book down, Harry asked, "Any idea what the first task is?"

As Hermione expected, everyone shook their heads. "That just means we need to work harder," she declared, lips pursed, "The task is only a week away."

"Let's get practicin' then, Harry," Oliver suggested. He pushed himself up from the recliner easily and left.

Jaw set, Harry followed.

When they were gone, Cedric took the seat at the table with its back to the fire. "What have we got here," he murmured, peering at Hermione's list, "Confundus Charm- I know that one, Head Hunter Hex, I haven't heard of that one..."

"My family has a knack for creating new spells," Pitman unexpectedly volunteered, "Aunt Olwen made that one."

Cedric's smile at her was tight. "She's talented," he complimented, before going right back to Hermione's woefully short list.

The smell of his aftershave was distracting. "Can you think of anything else?" Hermione asked, brushing her chin with the fluffy end of her quill.

Wordlessly, Pitman handed her sheet of parchment over. In wide, solid old-style handwriting, it read:

_Backfiring Jinx_

_Revultion Jinx_

_Slug Vomiting Charm_

_Blasting Curse_

_Reductor Curse (blasts the target into pieces)_

_Pink Eye Jinx_

_Banishing Charm_

_Flame Freezing Charm_

_Gouging Spell_

_Supersensory Charm (self-aimed spell, enhances the user's senses)_

_Duro (turns objects to stone)_

_Incarcerus (conjures ropes or chains to bind a person or object)_

Against her will, Hermione was impressed. "Good thinking with the gouging spell," she agreed, "I can't think of a realistic use for the flame freezing charm though..." The slug vomiting charm was more than adequate to disable an opponent, she remembered with a wince of sympathy.

To her right, Cedric nodded. "I already know most of these," he mumbled, "But practice is always helpful." Upon looking up, he gave Pitman a small smile.

"Can we keep this?" Hermione requested. At the other witch's nod, she smiled brilliantly and folded the page around her own list. "Thank you," she told the Ravenclaw warmly, packing her bag.

"I'll get the books," Pitman offered, going back to browsing the book in front of her, "I'm one of the few people that understands Aunt Moira's system."

Feeling a little awkward about leaving the tomes on the table, Hermione nodded. "Have a good night," she wished the other witch, hoisting her bag onto her shoulder.

Cedric nudged her forward with his hand on her lower back. "Thank you," he called to Pitman over his shoulder as he ushered Hermione down the stairs.

The area Cedric's hand rested on burned pleasantly. From fingertips to the heel of his hand it spanned nearly the whole way across the small of her back, making Hermione feel even smaller than she usually did. "Would you mind teaching me while you practice?" she requested, excitement burning through her with the opportunity for knowledge.

"Of course not." Cedric's reply was missing its usual enthusiasm.

Frowning, Hermione looked slightly over her shoulder at him. "What's wrong?" she asked, concerned, "You looked horrible at dinner."

If she were honest with herself, he still looked terrible. The shadows under his eyes were more prominent than they had been the day before and he still appeared unhealthily pale as they passed through the classroom. Even his hair seemed weighted down with something, drooping down against his head.

"Moody finally got around to testing us against the Imperius Curse," Cedric sighed, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his free hand, "I was able to resist it a little the first time, so he did it another six times until I could beat it. It was exhausting."

"Aquitania," Hermione told the statue of the bearded man before she turned back to Cedric, "I don't approve of his methods at all, he did the same thing to Harry. It's reckless and irresponsible, not to mention illegal... I can't believe Dumbledore allowed that!" Her rant continued the whole way down the stairs and through the door, only stopping when Cedric pointed his wand at the door.

"Imperturbius," he muttered, soundproofing the door. When he turned back to Hermione, he had dropped any attempt at cheer.

Feeling out of her depth, Hermione took a step back. "What's going on?" she demanded, eyes flicking around the room for possible escape routes. All she found were weapons and the wizards practicing spells on the platform.

Cedric took a deep breath, jaw tense. Then he explained the last thing Hermione expected: "Professor Moody told me the Lowes are Dark Magic practitioners."

'Oh damn,' Hermione thought, stricken, 'I might have just killed you.'

* * *

It took three hours of debating on Wednesday night to decide that they would still use Lowe's dueling room. Any help from her, Pitman or Clodagh Bride would be rejected however.

On Thursday the quartet was paranoid, watching the door out of the corner of their eyes. It mainly affected Cedric's concentration, as Harry and Oliver were already hyper-aware of their surroundings and Hermione trusted them to watch her back. That day, she worked on the Confundus Charm and Backfiring Jinx with half her mind elsewhere.

What Cedric had apparently learned from Moody made an amount of sense to her. After all, Lowe had (to the best of their knowledge) never worn anything but turtlenecks, jeans and boots under her robes and her skill at legilimency was nothing to laugh at. One the same token, it was difficult for Hermione to trust Moody's interpretation considering that he once took a carriage clock for a basilisk egg.

On the subject of Lowe, they were all in turmoil until Saturday when she was driven from their minds- the first task was dragons. It was obvious from what Harry had heard Charlie say that the task was to retrieve something from under the dragon's guard. How they were supposed to be prepared to do that (supposedly) without warning, Hermione had no idea.

It took a day or so for Cedric to come up with his plan. His best subject was transfiguration, so he was planning to transfigure something into a suitable distraction. Partially due to Hermione's insistence, Oliver assisted where he could.

Meanwhile, she pored through the main library for anything on dragons that may be of help. The closer Tuesday came with no answer in sight, the more frustrated, panicked and emotional Hermione got until she felt ready to explode. It compounded on top of the already present fear that she would be the cause of Cedric's death to drive her to tears twice on Monday morning alone.

It was unfair how Hermione seemed to be panicking more than Cedric and Oliver combined. While they could under no circumstances be called calm, they didn't appear to be on the verge of ripping their hair out either.

Her only respite came Monday. She had been busy worrying about the first task as was becoming her habit, not paying attention to her surroundings on her way to lunch. Half-way across the entrance hall, she walked right into someone.

"Oof," Hermione grunted, wincing as she prepared herself to fall. She was pleasantly surprised when large hands caught her around the waist, holding her up against them. The smells of parchment and aftershave told her who it was even before she opened her eyes again.

"Now _you_ look terrible," Cedric half-teased, "Come on, let's go somewhere quiet." He pulled away from her slowly, hands running over her sides almost too lightly to feel before they dropped to his sides.

Flushing slightly, Hermione nodded. "Where to?" she asked, adjusting her bag.

"The kitchens," Cedric told her, the familiar conspiring shine back in his eyes. It was comforting after seeing him stressed for days. He absently led her by the wrist to the basement stairs.

Feeling eyes on them, Hermione tried to wriggle loose. When Cedric's grip only tightened, she gave in and simply followed.

In her peripheral vision, she examined him closely. He was definitely looking healthier than he did nearly a week before, she noticed approvingly, the bounce back in his step and the shadows not so prominent under his eyes. Absently, she noted that he had a dimple in his chin.

When they reached the fruit bowl portrait, Cedric paused. Quite seriously, he looked down at Hermione and told her, "No bringing up the tournament whenever we're in the kitchens. Deal?" The corner of his lips turned up, revealing a sliver of pearly white teeth.

"Deal," Hermione murmured, managing a wane smile for him.

At her answer, Cedric's face brightened. Seemingly without any thought to the action he leaned down and pressed his lips to her forehead before he tickled the pear.

As she allowed him to help her through the portrait hole, Hermione wondered foggily, 'That felt an awful lot like when the Cedric from my dream kissed me. Could it be...?' When she looked at Cedric's animated expression as he ordered their lunches, she shook her head to clear it. No, that couldn't be right. Just because prophetic dreams existed didn't mean that the other nonsense was real.

She didn't notice when he sneaked a glance at her. She did notice when his hand slid down to intertwine their fingers together. She didn't discourage it.

'Sorry Oliver,' she thought as Cedric led her to a small side table, 'For right now, I need him more.'

* * *

-EOC-

If anyone is interested, I think of the font Fanjofey AH for Titanica's handwriting. Gosh, I love fonts.

I'm having a little too much fun being so uncertain with Moira. Which side is she on? It will be a while before anyone figures that out, if we ever do.

On the other hand, Hermione is proving to be the frustrating kind of confusing. Then again, it's a strange situation for anyone to be in, I would think.

Please review and share your thoughts!

-Thrae


	8. The First Task

Many thanks to the lovely reviewers: Techlology, Whisper Gypsy, asiantotheleft and Lucy Stark.

Techlology: Thanks for letting me know the romance part is fine, that was what I was most worried about actually. Last chapter was definitely a little heavy on the OC's now that I look back, thanks for pointing it out. (Although I now noticed that this review was for chapter six, oops!) Here's hoping this one is more to both our tastes.

**IMPORTANT NOTE: I am doing Camp NaNoWriMo in August and thus may take a long while to update. That is also the reason for the short chapter this time. This does not mean I am abandoning my darling, just that I have another obligation right now. Thank you.**

Disclaimer: I own nothing that's under copyright, including pieces of dialogue I borrowed from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. I own only Moira Lowe, Titanica Pitman and Clodagh Bride.

* * *

Chapter Eight: The First Task

Running on four hours of sleep wasn't a good thing for anyone's health, Oliver thought as he dragged himself to lunch on Tuesday, especially not his. 'Why did Harry wait until the last minute to figure out a strategy?' he mentally groaned, taking his now usual place beside Hermione.

"Afternoon, sparrow," he greeted her tiredly, snagging the nearest half of a sandwich. Looking across the table, he gave Harry a short grin.

The Seeker grimaced in return, pale. There was a tinge of green to his face not unlike right before his first quidditch match. Oliver didn't blame him for being nervous- the thought of the first task made _his_ stomach roil uncomfortably and he wasn't even participating.

"Still got a grip on the charm?" Oliver asked, putting the sandwich down on his plate. He didn't feel like eating anymore.

Mutely, Harry nodded.

A comparison struck Oliver's tired mind that made him nearly giggle. "Think of it like another quidditch match," he suggested, amused at the mental image, "And the dragon is the ugliest opposin' team yeh've ever faced."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hermione smile slightly. She looked as tired as he felt, her usual under eye circles nearly bruise-like. They had both been up until two in the morning helping Harry perfect his summoning charm.

As the Seeker grimaced again, he was accosted by Professor McGonagall. "Potter, the champions have to come down onto the grounds now..." she told Harry stiffly, "You have to prepare for your first task." The skin around her eyes was tight with anxiety.

"Okay," Harry grunted. He let his fork fall into the food he had been playing with instead of eating.

Beside Oliver, Hermione tensed up. "Good luck, Harry!" she whispered, "You'll be fine!"

For reassurance, Oliver threaded his fingers through hers where they laid on the bench. "Yeh'll do great," he told his Seeker with what he hoped was a cocky grin, "Remember- ugly quidditch team."

At that, Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow. However, she said nothing as she led the youngest champion out the doors.

It seemed like the whole hall followed him with their eyes until he was out of sight. Once Harry passed the doors, Oliver looked to his other side and gave Hermione's hand a squeeze. "He's strong," he murmured to her, nudging the side of her head with his cheek, "He'll make it."

Vaguely, he wondered where this courage was coming from. It wasn't like he could possibly "get the girl" when he was competing with someone like Cedric Diggory. Or was he competing? It was very confusing when his daydreams seemed to involve curling up with both of them.

"I know," Hermione returned, barely audible, "I can't help but fear for him. He's like a brother to me." Obviously looking for comfort, she leaned against him.

The familiar smell of cinnamon wafted up to Oliver's nose and this time he was able to figure out the second component: roses. Unable to resist, he buried his nose in her voluminous hair. "He'll be fine," he echoed her earlier words.

It couldn't have been more than three minutes that they sat, unmoving. Oliver committed the smell of her hair and the feel of her side against his to memory, not knowing when this would be taken away from him. All good things came to an end sooner or later.

"Let's head out," Hermione finally suggested, "I can't eat right now." Less gracefully than usual, she slid her legs out from under the table and got to her feet. She didn't let go of his hand.

Ignoring the cool feeling where her head had rested, Oliver followed. The farther they walked out of the great hall and onto the grounds, the more nervous he felt. It was somehow only striking him now that blokes who had become good friends could die that day. The realization was startling.

When they passed a white tent erected in a gap between two sets of wooden stands (Wooden? There were going to be _dragons_ roaring _fire_ in there!) they slowed down, hoping to get a glimpse of Harry or Cedric. Neither had seen the Hufflepuff since last night at dinner and had yet to wish him luck.

Upon not sighting hide nor hair of either champion, they reluctantly followed the crowd into the stands. It was easy to find the Weasley siblings with their red hair, especially since the twins were loudly taking bets.

"Hi," Hermione greeted them, taking a seat on the bench beside Ron Weasley. She gave him and his sister a weak smile.

Oliver squeezed onto the end of the bench beside her. "Hello all," he added over Hermione's head.

Ginny Weasley looked at them, especially their connected hands, with interest. She shot Hermione a look that spoke for itself before returning, "There you are, Hermione! Hello Wood."

On the other hand, Ron simply grunted. Obviously he wasn't feeling very sociable at the moment.

When Oliver looked down at the arena, anxiety crashed over him again. In the middle of the enclosure was a bluish grey dragon curled up on top of her nest, scales glistening like water in the sunlight. If it weren't for the task at hand, Oliver would have thought the creature a beauty.

Hermione tightened her grip on his hand. The bones of his fingers ached, but he ignored it.

The stands filled up around them quickly, a sea of black, red and gold there to support Harry. It almost made Oliver feel out of place- he was supporting Cedric, the competition, as well. Students had painted their faces and were waving Gryffindor flags much like at a quidditch match.

A whistle trilled from somewhere on the outskirts of the stadium. The first champion was up.

When Cedric emerged from the tent, Oliver wasn't sure how to feel. Still he roared with nearly half the crowd, showing his support loudly past the lump in his throat. His right ear rang from Hermione's wild cheering.

The noise attracted the dragon's attention and Oliver could see a giant black eye peek open. It was awake now, if it had even been asleep in the first place. Cedric's job would be twice as difficult.

He sneaked down into the lower ground the dragon's nest was located in, hiding behind boulders whenever the dragon's gaze came near him. When he was about thirty feet away however, he was too far away from the next piece of cover to remain out of sight. The dragon roared, eyes wide open and nostrils smoking.

What followed were fifteen of the tensest moments of Oliver's life. His heart raced like he was the one trying to steal a dragon egg rather than just watching, the nails of his free hand splintering into the wood of the bench beneath him. He didn't notice the pain from the hand Hermione still had possession of either- his entire scope of focus was on the arena.

All he knew was that Cedric just _had_ to survive or Oliver would bring him back to life so he could kill him again. When the dragon sent a spurt of flame at the champion right as he reached the egg, the smell of burning hair and something like bacon reached him easily. If Oliver had anything in his stomach, he probably would have vomited a little.

Dragon keepers got the Swedish Short-Snout under control with an assortment of charms while a burgundy-haired Mediwitch led Cedric back to the entrance of the tent. They paused there, Cedric holding the hard-earned egg under his uninjured arm.

Across from the tent, the judge's panel sent up their marks. It averaged out to sevens, not a bad score considering the burns Cedric had obviously sustained. Again cheers rose from the crowd and this time Oliver joined in whole-heartedly, relieved that his friend had simply _survived_.

Next was Fleur Delacour (who ended up getting half of her skirt burned off) and then Viktor Krum. When the Durmstrang champion used a simple Pink Eye Jinx, Oliver heard Hermione groan, "It was right there on the paper!" Whatever that meant, she didn't explain and he didn't ask.

Finally it was Harry's turn and his dragon replaced the injured Chinese Fireball. Oliver's breath got trapped in his throat as he stared at it, praying he was seeing it wrong. "Godric's balls," he cursed under his breath, "It's a Hungarian Horntail."

Hermione probably fractured his right hand when her grip on it tightened even more. He didn't care.

Harry stumbled out of the champions' tent shakily, eyes roving the stands for a short second before he focused on the dragon. As soon as he had taken a cursory examination of the beast he raised his wand into the air and shouted a spell, but Oliver couldn't hear which over the shouts of the crowd.

For a long moment, nothing happened. "Please let it work," Hermione prayed quietly, "Please, please please let it work..." If he were religious, Oliver would have been doing the same.

With a familiar whirring sound, a blessedly familiar piece of equipment zoomed into the enclosure and hovered at Harry's hip- his Firebolt. As soon as the broom arrived, Oliver's panic left. The faith he had in his Seeker was endless when the bloke was on a broomstick.

It took less than ten minutes for Harry to secure the golden egg.

As the dragon keepers subdued the angry Horntail, the stands rocked with the jumping of the excited spectators. Oliver felt like Christmas had come early as Hermione tackled him in a giant hug, squeezing him tightly around the neck. In the limited space they had he swung her around, laughing giddily.

"Let's see them!" Hermione shouted over the din, releasing Oliver to push him into the aisle. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her grab Ron Weasley's arm and pull him after her.

With the crowds still celebrating in their seats, it was relatively easy to get out. At the nearest entrance to the champions' tent they burst in, grins stretching their faces almost painfully. "Harry, you were brilliant!" Hermione crowed and immediately hugged him around the middle, careful not to jar his injured shoulder.

Figuring that he could give his congratulations later, Oliver ventured further into the tent. Only Cedric was still inside, a thick orange paste covering half of his face and a good portion of his chest and shoulder. A very bare chest and shoulder.

"Yeh did it," Oliver grinned, speaking quietly to try to avoid Madame Pomfrey's wrath, "Our practice paid off."

Cedric's eyes seemed to shimmer in the diffused light as they focused on him. "If I never see another dragon, it'll be too soon," he stated wryly, "These burns aren't anything to joke about."

"Aye," Oliver agreed, forcing his eyes away from the toned pectoral they had been studying. When he looked back in Cedric's eyes, he felt blood rush to his neck; he'd been caught.

The champion winked. "Like what you see?" he teased, leaning back on his elbows.

Oliver's mind raced and his breathing was suddenly shallow and quick with panic. 'No, no, no, no, no!' he chanted in his head, somehow unable to physically move under Cedric's heavy gaze, 'I'm not attracted to him, I can't be attracted to him, I... Oh hell, I am and he knows it and this will make things so- I'm screwed if my dad finds out but he can't find out because I'm not but I am and this is _not_ happening-' His train of thought was cut off when a warm hand touched his hip gently.

"I didn't mean to frighten you," Cedric told him, moving his hand back to his lap as soon as he had the Keeper's attention, "Sometimes I don't think before I speak." His smile was tight.

It was impossible to find a decent answer to that statement. Luckily, Hermione saved the day by bursting in crying. "Those idiots!" she howled, stamping her foot on the ground, "I'll never understand boys, they're so stupid!"

When he looked at the brilliant fourth year, Cedric's eyes lit up again. "What happened?" he inquired genially.

It struck something unpleasant in Oliver's chest when he saw that. He felt strangely guilty considering that he was innocent, watching them interact so comfortably. With both of them suitably distracted, he tried to slip away unnoticed.

"Oliver," Cedric called.

Slowly, he turned to look over his shoulder. His feet itched to take him away and the rest of him liked the idea a great deal too.

Hermione and Cedric were both looking at him, one confused and the other oddly sad for having successfully stolen a golden egg from a dragon. "Stay," the champion said softly, "Please?"

With a deep breath, Oliver turned back around. It was impossible to refuse when Cedric Diggory said please.

* * *

Minus the incomprehensible screeching when the egg was opened, the party after the first task went splendidly. Although she had been unable to attend the Hufflepuff celebration, Hermione got to celebrate with Cedric soon enough. The day after the task, they had sneaked away with Harry, Ron and Oliver to the kitchens for a small bash of their own.

There they met Ian Polkes, a friend of Cedric's in his own year. He was a charming blonde whose eyes reminded Hermione of Dumbledore's with the appearance of everything being a personal joke. It was almost too easy to be distracted by his presence, like Ron had been.

'That's probably half of why they sat him right across from me,' Hermione thought sourly, remembering how the miniature party had been awkward on her left side and roaring to her right. Cedric and Oliver had acknowledged each other just fine, but there was an astounding amount of emotional distance now.

It was obvious after the fact that Hermione had interrupted something that day in the tent. When she realized that she kicked herself hard, feeling much like a female Ron. 'That was probably exactly the moment I'd been waiting for and I ruined it!' she had thought, frustrated with herself.

A week went by and she realized that it wasn't only the awkwardness of a ruined moment. Even Ron had noticed something was wrong! "What's Diggory moping about for?" he had asked a little too loudly for comfort after they passed him in the hall.

Hermione began to piece together the clues after a few days of observation. Cedric was depressed, Oliver was nervous around him and they were only seen together in her company now. Once or twice she had seen the Hufflepuff with a longing look, but when she looked again it was gone.

Only one conclusion was plausible: Operation Get Cedric and Oliver Together had failed dramatically and now they were suffering the fallout.

'That won't do,' Hermione decided as she tried to do her Arithmancy homework the Saturday she reached her conclusion. Giving it up as a lost cause between her less than academic thoughts and the giggling of the Krum fangirls, she put her work to the side for the moment.

What could she do? Options buzzed through her mind, half of them taken from those horrible teen dramas that were always on television. Feeling a headache starting to build, Hermione buried her face in her hands.

"Are you alright?" When she looked up, she saw that it was Pitman who had asked. The girl had stopped by Hermione's table with a stack of books in her arms and a concerned expression. She tilted her head to the side curiously.

Hermione's first thought was to deny that anything was wrong. That thought was quickly superseded by the need for an unbiased opinion. "Two of my friends had a fallout and I'm partially to blame," she finally sighed, "I need a way to try to help them make up, or at least not be so awkward around each other!"

"Have you tried getting them together to talk about it?" Pitman asked. She set her books down on the table and leaned on the stack casually.

"They avoid each other whenever they're not in the middle of a crowd," Hermione groaned.

For a moment quiet descended upon them. While Pitman's face was smooth and the only sign of deep thought was in her eyes, Hermione was visibly frowning. The Gryffindor tapped her fingers rhythmically together, trying to figure out what she would _do_.

"Lock them in a closet together," Pitman suggested, lifting one shoulder in a half-shrug.

Hermione felt that she had dramatically over-estimated the Ravenclaw before. "That will never work," she declared, "They're two and three years ahead of us. They could probably undo any enchantments we cast in their sleep."

Undeterred, Pitman smirked. "Any enchantments _you_ cast, maybe," she corrected with a superior tone, "I, however, can cast wards that only my family knows how to remove. They won't have a chance."

The thought of putting so much trust in this possible Dark witch made Hermione balk. "Well, I'm not sure that would be a good idea," she refused immediately, "What about if you're not around and there's an emergency?"

"Get my aunt," Pitman answered surely, "If worst comes to worst, Dumbledore should be able to sort it out." It wasn't a reassuring thought.

"_Should_ be able to?" Hermione asked shrilly, "_Should be_?" She looked around quickly for a sign of Madame Pince, but when the librarian didn't pop up and scold her, she glared at the redhead.

Pitman frowned. "Have I ever given you a reason not to trust me?" she asked, "Why are you so against me now when before we were fine?"

"Why has Professor Moody been trying to catch your aunt and grandfather his whole career?" questioned Hermione in response. Just thinking about it made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

With an amused quirk of her lips, Pitman snorted. "An absurd rumor has been going for decades that my grandmother had an affair with Theo Nott's grandfather," she explained, "Complete bull. Dad never told me who my grandfather was, but when I name someone, he's willing to tell me if I'm right."

Blinking curiously, Hermione felt her eyebrows raise seemingly of their own accord. There _was_ a slight resemblance between Nott and Lowe, but not enough to notice outright. Nott was tall and reedy with dark wavy hair, much like Lowe, but his eyes were dark brown and he lacked the unnatural sort of beauty that Lowe and Pitman boasted. Most of the magical families Hermione had come across were related and shared some characteristics anyway.

"So far it's not a Nott, Zabini, Black, Greengrass or Potter," Pitman continued almost apathetically, "And I can't think of any other wizarding family any of us look like. Does that help lay your prejudices at ease?" She stared expectantly, like she already knew what Hermione would say.

It was a look the Gryffindor hated. "Why do you want to help me so much?" she asked suspiciously. She couldn't see anything in it for the Ravenclaw.

"They've been dancing around each other for _years_ and I'm tired of it," Pitman announced matter-of-factly, "It was only a matter of time before _someone_ noticed Diggory's fascination with Wood, it's been going on since at least the year you and I started school. And, uh, you might want to close your mouth."

Hermione hadn't noticed that it was hanging open. Flushing slightly, she stopped gaping to sigh, "I'll need to take a look at the wards. How they're cast, what they require, if they're legal..." She gave Pitman a look when she said the last word, still flushed.

In return, she received a smirk and a wink. "I'll bring the notebooks tomorrow, same time," agreed the Ravenclaw, hoisting her books back into her arms, "See you then."

"Bye," Hermione returned absently. As soon as Pitman walked away, she began packing her bag.

She wondered if she was going mad for even thinking about doing this. The thought was negated by the mental image of Oliver and Cedric awkwardly shuffling away from each other as was quickly becoming the norm. Sometimes one has to take a risk to get what they want.

* * *

-EOC-

I hope this chapter turned out well... Or at least better than the last one. Please leave a review to tell me your thoughts on it!

-Thrae


	9. Broom Cupboards and Dancing Lessons

Thanks to my delightful reviewers: Guest, Whisper Gypsy, Wish Me Monsters, asianstotheleft, Booklover9477, nikyta, Smudged and C.A.!

C.A.: This is my first sojourn into the realm of Harry Potter that's longer than 4000 words, so I'm learning as I go. Thanks for the comment on my writing quality!

Disclaimer: I own nothing under copyright, including the borrowed quotes. Only Moira Lowe, Clodagh Bride, Titanica Pitman and the Head Hunter Hex are mine.

* * *

Chapter Nine: Broom Cupboards and Dancing Lessons

Cedric was beginning to think that walking to the loo was a more dangerous activity than it was given credit for. If there wasn't a fangirl throwing herself at him, there were the foreign students glowering at him over the tournament. But this incident took the cake, honestly.

It was a perfectly normal Tuesday: wake up, mope, go to class, mope, hang out with Hermione and Oliver while trying not to mope, then excuse himself and mope some more. Ian had seen fit to comment, "While you're busy being pitiful, can you go get me a sandwich?" Even with his current mood, Cedric had seen fit to aim a throw pillow at his head.

He had acknowledged privately that yes, he was pathetic. Then again, what he had recently realized was three years of hope for any amorous attention from Oliver had been crushed. To him it was one of the few good reasons available to mope around.

So when Cedric was shoved into a broom cupboard on his way to the loo, he found himself not as amused as he would have normally been. Someone else was shoved in with him and the door was slammed closed.

"Oh, let me out or I'll hex you to kingdom come, Pitman!" Hermione's voice shrieked.

"Not until you all get your heads out of your arses!" returned a voice that was unknown to Cedric.

"Hermione?" asked a surprised voice from the left side of the cupboard.

Cedric's heart sunk to the region of his stomach. "And me," he answered, now wishing that he was anywhere else besides trapped in a broom cupboard with Hermione Granger and Oliver Wood.

"Lumos," Oliver murmured, illuminating the tiny space. His eyes flickered from Cedric to Hermione (who was seemingly banging on the air over the door) and back, upon which he raised an eyebrow. "It seems we're trapped," he commented unnecessarily, "Now what is this about getting heads out of arses?"

With a shrug, Cedric settled on the opposite wall from Oliver. Hungrily, his gaze took in what he could see from the dim light: missing tie, open robes, mussed hair and an entirely too delicious-looking neck.

Huffing, Hermione turned around and leaned back against the door. Or at least, some sort of barrier about three inches inside the door. "This is partially my fault," she admitted, crossing her arms over her chest defensively, "I was tired of you two avoiding each other and being awkward, so I planned to get you two in here until you reached a consensus."

Most of Cedric's annoyance died. She was far too adorable to stay mad at for long, especially with her eyes sparkling and hair standing out from her head. He could feel her magic crackling around her, a warm tingling force on his skin.

"And Pitman got help to turn yer plan backwards on yeh," Oliver smirked at Hermione, "How does it feel?"

"Frustrating," Hermione sniffed, "Especially since they honestly will keep us in here until we, err... solve things." She winced slightly on the last part, mumbling something to herself.

Cedric raised an eyebrow and said in his silkiest, most convincing voice, "And pray tell, what is it that we're trying to solve?"

It didn't do him any good. All Hermione did was give him a warning look. "You two have been avoiding each other ever since the first task," she stated, "I want to know what happened, and I want you to fix it."

A stolen glance at Oliver saw him flinch. It hurt slightly that he was so far out of reach... emotionally, not physically.

"I got a little too flirty and Oliver let me know that he's uncomfortable with it," Cedric told Hermione past the lump in his throat, "There's nothing left to say." He tried to grin reassuringly, but he was sure it ended up as more of grimace.

"Oh really?" Hermione asked expectantly. Seeing that she wouldn't get anything more out of him, she turned to Oliver and snapped, "What's your excuse for acting like a skittish colt?"

"Wait just a minute!" the Keeper exclaimed, his wand light growing stronger as his temper started to flare, "I haven't been actin' skittish! He's the one avoidin' me!"

The slight made Cedric frown. "Oh, so that's why you walk the other way whenever you see me," he growled, glaring across the closet, "Thanks for clearing that up."

"You've both been avoiding each other!" Hermione put in, disregarding the killer looks shooting between the boys, "You always find excuses to leave early if we're hanging out! You're always freaking out, and _you're_ moping around twenty-four-seven-"

Impatiently, Oliver cut in, "It's none of your business, sparrow."

"It is when this is affecting our friendship!" Hermione fired back, bristling like an angry cat.

* * *

Outside the cupboard, Titanica Pitman and her accomplices crouched with their ears to the door. "I think we might be getting somewhere," she whispered.

"Thank Merlin," Ginny sighed, rolling her eyes, "Finally! I was getting tired off the googly eyes they were all throwing each other at the table..."

"You know it'll only get worse if this works, right?" Clodagh pointed out.

Seeing her point, the other witches went quiet for a moment. "At least then there will be juicy details," Ginny shrugged.

Oliver's voice rose and he and Hermione started arguing then.

"Honestly," Clodagh snorted at one comment of Hermione's, "That was uncalled for."

A voice asked from behind them, "Do I want to know what you're doing?" When Titanica looked over her shoulder, she saw with relief that it was only Harry Potter. He stood in the middle of the corridor with an eyebrow raised nearly into his fringe.

"That depends on what you're doing here," Ginny replied, ear still pressed to the planks of the door.

"You haven't seen Hermione, have you?" Harry asked. Upon hearing a particularly shrill reply from inside the broom closet, his eyes went wide. "Don't tell me..." he trailed off weakly.

Smirking, Titanica gestured to the door. "Exactly," she nodded.

At that point, Oliver went off on a tangent. Titanica winced from the volume, withdrawing slightly from the planks. "That man can shout," she muttered to herself, rubbing her ear.

"They can't tell we're out here, can they?" Harry questioned awkwardly, looking up and down the corridor. They were alone as far as could be seen.

"Not if you shut up!" hissed Clodagh.

Taking another look at the hallway, Harry sighed. To Titanica's surprise, he joined them in listening at the door. "This had better be good," he muttered.

After Ginny whacked him up the head, the group fell silent.

* * *

As Oliver and Hermione argued back and forth, Cedric found himself smiling slightly. Although they were fighting, it was almost worth them being in the same room without a cloud of awkwardness hanging overhead. He made a mental note to possibly thank Pitman and her accomplices.

"Fine!" Oliver roared anywhere from five to ten minutes later, startling Cedric out of his thoughts, "Yeh want to know what's wrong? Here's what's wrong! I've got the hots for both of yeh and if my dad finds out, he'll murder me! Happy?"

Aside of Oliver's draw of breath there was silence in the cupboard. Cedric's heart was pounding a hundred miles an hour, hope flaring up again from where it had been crushed. "A-are you serious?" he asked, trying not to stammer like a first year on Valentine's Day.

There silence felt like it lasted forever. If this was a joke, Cedric would beat the Gryffindor Keeper to a pulp, feelings for the bloke be damned.

"Aye," Oliver finally replied, so quietly that it almost went unheard, "Aye, I'm serious." He folded into himself uncomfortably, fidgeting with the sleeves of his robes.

"You idiot," Cedric murmured, suddenly happy beyond words, "You idiot!" He practically melted back into the wall of the broom closet.

Although her face was the same red as her scarf, Hermione looked excessively pleased. "Aren't triads an accepted part of wizarding society?" she questioned intellectually, "I can't see why your father would have a problem with it, especially with the raw amount of magical power involved..."

Oliver ran a hand through his hair with a grimace. "He's not the nicest man," he hedged, "Never made much sense to me." Eager to change the topic slightly, he shot back to Hermione, "What about your parents?"

She bit her lip with thought, flushing again. "In the muggle world, it's illegal to marry more than one person," she stated, lifting her shoulder in a shrug, "I'm not sure, really..."

"I think we're putting the cart before the horse," Cedric interrupted before the conversation got any more intellectual, "I know that I have feelings for you both. I have since the night after the World Cup, even though I only recognized it when we got back here. But what about you, Hermione?"

Both boys stared at her in the dim light of Oliver's wand, waiting with baited breath for a response.

* * *

Draco Malfoy thought he had seen some strange things in his time at Hogwarts. As he sauntered up the fourth floor corridor flanked by Crabbe and Goyle as always, he had to revise his opinion.

Several students were standing and kneeling outside a perfectly ordinary door, apparently listening to something. Whatever it was had to be interesting, he figured, seeing as all the Weasleys and a few scattered Ravenclaw and Hufflepuffs were there. Idly, he noticed that the mudblood and His Royal Quidditch Nut were missing from the gathering.

"What are you doing?" Draco sneered, "Got kicked out of your common room, Weasley?" It was far too much fun messing with them sometimes.

Potter took a quick glance at him before turning his attention back to the door. One of the twins simply made a rude hand gesture, while the rest of the crowd at the door ignored him.

Turning pink with anger, Draco opened his mouth to begin a string of slurs that would leave them all steaming at the ears. No one ignored him! No one!

"If you don't want to hear this, bugger off!" hissed a tall Hufflepuff boy who hung around Diggory often. He glared at Draco expectantly, ear to the doorjamb.

The Slytherin was taken aback. Nothing like this had ever happened to him before, leaving him deadly curious on what the big deal was. The urge to join the eavesdropping party reared its ugly head.

When he looked again at who all was there however, the thought was stamped out. "As if," he scoffed, before ordering Crabbe and Goyle, "Let's go."

As the Slytherins left, gasps and whispers broke out. Draco looked over his shoulder at the gathering, eyebrow quirked, but soon caught himself. 'They can go ahead and listen,' he thought derisively, walking around the corner, 'I'll hear everything soon enough.'

* * *

That either Cedric or Oliver could like her- never mind both- had barely been in Hermione's wildest dreams. Now because she had been made a victim (or beneficiary) of her own plan, there were two extremely handsome, talented and caring young men waiting on her reply. She was seriously thinking of kissing Pitman when she got out of the broom cupboard.

"You're idiots for thinking I wouldn't like you both!" Hermione exclaimed, throwing her hands up in a gesture of frustration, "Boys! You're so-"

She was cut off by a pair of lips kissing her passionately, pressing hard against her mouth. She was turned to her other side and a more weather-beaten pair kissed her softly.

Subtly, Hermione pinched herself. When she felt the pain, she couldn't have been happier. 'I'm not dreaming,' she realized, resisting the urge to dance around like a lunatic, 'I'm not dreaming!'

"Now that we have that sorted out, can we stop being so awkward?" Hermione asked, cringing when she sounded breathless.

Cedric was grinning madly, and Oliver's eyes gleamed in the sparse light. "None on my end anymore," the Hufflepuff assured her, running a large hand up and down her arm.

They both looked to Oliver, who had a somewhat pained expression. "No more awkwardness," he agreed reluctantly, "But if anythin' happens between the three of us, my dad doesn't find out."

The other two looked at each other, holding a silent conference. When Cedric lolled his head from side to side, Hermione nodded. "Does that mean that... we're all together?" she asked quietly.

Hope and fear warred within her. While she had never been in a relationship before, she was certain that they could make it work. On the other hand, she worried about how to explain this development to her parents if they lasted until summer break. Hermione forced away thoughts of the summer; that was too far away to worry about now.

"Aye," Oliver answered, a crooked smile slowly creeping onto his face, "All three. Cedric?" He looked to the Hufflepuff with his head tilted to the side. Almost out of her field of vision, she saw their hands clasp and fingers interlace.

"All three," agreed Cedric, before laughing, "To think, half an hour earlier I was miserable!" He threw his head back with infectious mirth.

Rolling her eyes, Hermione wrapped an arm round each of them. "Just kiss me again, you two," she ordered.

None of them noticed the barrier over the door disappearing. They were too caught up in each other, discovering what (at least Hermione) had taken far too long to realize they wanted.

* * *

"Show's over!" Ginny barked, waving her arms in a gesture to go away.

Nobody budged, all busy talking amongst themselves. Those who had arrived later in the event were being filled in, while everyone else was already gossiping. It was a little scary to see how much the improvised plot had snowballed.

Trading looks with Clodagh and Pitman produced only helpless shrugs.

The whole section of corridor in front of the closet door was filled with students from every house, including the Greengrasses from Slytherin. Then again, they were notorious gossips so it shouldn't have been surprising. There weren't even supposed to _be_ any bystanders in the plan, just Ginny, Pitman and Clodagh standing by to let the trio out when it was time.

"So what should we do?" asked Clodagh, looking from the crowd to the door.

Once again, Pitman made Ginny doubt that she had a conscience. "I say we leave them in there," she declared nonchalantly, "If they don't figure out I've unwarded the door, it's their own fault." She leaned back on the wall beside the door casually.

Ginny frowned. "But what about them?" she asked, gesturing to the bystanders, "We don't want to embarrass them back into the closet."

The cousins had a silent conversation. At the end, they both shrugged in response.

One of the twins then came by and Pitman handed him a scrap of paper. "Three galleons on a triad," he grinned down at her, digging in his pockets, "Good guess." He then handed the Ravenclaw her winnings before continuing through the crowd.

"You bet on them?" Ginny asked, eyes wide with disbelief.

Smirking, Pitman pocketed the gold coins. "Why not?" she answered the unasked question of why, "Let's go, they can handle it." She disappeared into the crowd of students.

Harry was examining a piece of paper on the edge of the crowd, Ginny saw with curiosity. What he saw made his nose twinge, a sign of potential trouble. "Oi!" he hollered over the noise of the crowd, "Snape is headed this way!"

No more needed to be said, the crowd cleared out almost instantly. Within three minutes only Harry, Ron, Clodagh, Ginny and a tall Hufflepuff boy were left over. The Boy Who Lived smirked, muttering something before he tapped the parchment and put it away.

"Is Snape really on his way?" asked the Hufflepuff, frowning nervously.

It was Ron who answered, "Nah. Had to clear them out somehow, right?"

In times like that, Ginny remembered why she adored Harry. And didn't despise Ron.

* * *

Over the next day and a half, Hermione floated through everything as if on a cloud. Not even the Krum fangirls in the library could bring her down. She had smiled the whole way through Potions, even when Snape took points off for her humming happily, and wished the professor a good day on her way out. It was that good of a mood.

Now here she sat on a set off bleachers transfigured from the desks of Professor McGonagall's classroom, curious to find out why class was canceled. Although she was still on cloud nine, Hermione pouted: Transfiguration was one of her favorite classes.

The whole house was there from fourth year up, with the girls and boys divided onto bleachers across the room from each other. That, Hermione found even more strange. Though it was half-way driven from her mind when Oliver winked across the classroom at her. She still couldn't believe she somehow had both of them.

As Filch fiddled with the needle of a giant turntable, Professor McGonagall commanded their attention, explaining, "The Yule Ball has been a tradition of the Triwizard Tournament since its inception. On Christmas Eve night, we and our guests gather in the great hall for a night of well-mannered frivolity." She gave the boys, especially Fred and George, a stern look on the last few words.

Even from across the room, Hermione could see the hypothetical halos hovering over their heads. An expression of innocence on either of them meant they were plotting something, obviously.

"As representatives of the host school, I expect each and every one of you to put your best foot forward, and I mean this literally," Professor McGonagall continued sharply, "Because the Yule Ball is first and foremost, a dance."

Even Hermione got excited, though she tried to hide her smile as the other girls whispered giddily around her. On the other side of the room, the boys groaned miserably. One of those was very obviously Ron.

"Silence!" Professor McGonagall commanded, and once everyone settled back down, she went on, "The house of Godric Gryffindor has commanded the respect of the wizarding world for nearly ten centuries. I will not have you, in the course of a single evening, besmirching that name by behaving like a babbling, bumbling band of baboons."

It was hard not to laugh as the twins obviously tried to say the tongue twister five times fast. Hermione was having trouble even doing it in her head, and from the expression on Oliver's face, Fred and George weren't doing any better. The Keeper grinned crookedly across the room at her, shaking his head exasperatedly.

"Now to dance, is to make the ballroom breathe," Professor McGonagall told them, seeming to enjoy herself as she made sweeping gestures toward the students, "Inside every girl a secret swan slumbers, longing to burst forth and take flight. Inside every boy, a lordly lion prepares to prance."

Ron had whispered something while she was speaking (probably something offensive, knowing him) that made the boys surrounding him try to hide their chuckles. Obviously Professor McGonagall had heard however, since she immediately swept over to him. Unfortunately, Hermione couldn't see the look on Ron's face when he was more ordered than requested, "Will you join me please?"

His grimace was fully visible however, when he was led to the middle of the room. He had an inkling of what was coming and didn't like the thought. It was confirmed when Professor McGonagall put her hand on his shoulder and told him, "Now rest your hand upon my waist."

As Filch started the record and Ron awkwardly began learning how to dance with the professor, Hermione couldn't help but smirk. 'That's what you get for being a prat so long,' she thought gleefully, watching the boys all snicker. Harry, Oliver, Fred and George seemed to be especially enjoying the show.

Then the call came, "Everyone, together!"

The girls all sprang up eagerly, even Hermione. It was nonsense, but she was already nervous and it was only a practice run! 'Relax,' she told herself closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, 'You've faced a werewolf, you can practice dancing.'

When she opened her eyes again, Neville had stood and Oliver was practically wading through the crowd of girls. It sent a pleasant tingle down Hermione's spine that he only had eyes for her when there were girls who were older and prettier...

"May I have this dance?" Oliver asked formally, holding out a hand.

"You may," Hermione responded, putting on her snootiest voice for the occasion. She could feel a goofy grin on her face as she placed one delicate hand on his offered palm. When his other hand settled on the top of her hip she gulped, mouth suddenly dry.

Once her free hand rested on the tip of Oliver's shoulder, he steered them in a circle. "One, two, three, one, two, three..." he muttered, glancing down at his feet every now and again, "One, two, three..." He apologized profusely when he trod on her foot.

"It's fine," Hermione gritted out, trying to not focus on how her foot throbbed now. To her relief, the accident was a one-time thing.

"Yeh're not havin' a problem," Oliver accused playfully, "Have yeh danced before?"

"I took lessons," Hermione explained, enjoying how he was tapping his fingers against her hip to the rhythm of the music, "I didn't have many friends, so I had an overabundance of time on my hands."

Professor McGonagall interrupted at that point, shifting Oliver's hand up. With a beady eyed stare, she then left to assist others.

"I'm never lettin' Ron live that down," Oliver snickered.

Hermione couldn't help laughing. "I don't think anyone will," she agreed, "Least of all Fred and George." Thinking for a moment, she nibbled on her lower lip before coming to a decision. With the hand that had been on Oliver's shoulder, she moved his back down to the upper curve of her hip. It felt more natural there.

"Well, well, Ms. Granger," he teased, eyes shining like highly polished cherry wood, "Are yeh feelin' darin' today?" His smile was full of mischief now as he glanced over Hermione's shoulder.

When she looked, she struggled not to burst out laughing. Professor McGonagall was attempting to reign in Fred and George's wild dancing attempts. Chances were that she would fail epically.

"Are yeh?" prompted Oliver eagerly. Without waiting for an answer he sped up, not doing anything nearly as wild as the twins but forcing the other students to clear a path just the same. Despite his earlier mistake, he didn't step on Hermione's feet once as they whirled around the room.

"Oliver!" she shrieked, though her laughter undermined the attempt at scolding, "Stop this instant!" It was all she could do to keep up with his longer legs as they waltzed past Harry and Ron, who looked all too amused.

Oliver shook his head as he spun her out unexpectedly. Using the leverage his heavier body and longer limbs provided, he brought her back in just as fast. "Yeh're enjoyin' this too much to stop," he refused, still grinning crookedly.

Refusing to lie, Hermione threw her head back and laughed. Being held in arms toned by quidditch and breathing the scents of freshly cut grass, broom polish and minty toothpaste felt right. She closed her eyes and trusted Oliver to lead her, immersing herself in her secondary senses.

Unknown to them, Professor McGonagall smiled to herself. She turned a blind eye to her favorite student's antics that day.

* * *

-EOC-

Thank you for sticking with me, and I hope that the broom cupboard scene shaped up to expectations! I especially liked writing how the crowd outside grew in the half-hour they were stuck in there.

There's a poll on my profile page, so if my registered readers would vote, I would very much appreciate it. For the unregistered readers, the question is: would you prefer longer chapters that take longer to come out, or shorter chapters in less time?

Please remember to review and tell me how I'm doing!

-Thrae


	10. Clock Tower Rendezvous

Thank you to my fantastic reviewers: Whisper Gypsy, EllaLewis, asianstotheleft, nikyta, Cassie-D 101 and Booklover9477!

Disclaimer: I own nothing under copyright. I do, however, own Moira Lowe, Titanica Pitman, Clodagh Bride and the Head Hunter Hex.

Chapter Ten: Clock Tower Rendezvous

* * *

Hermione had left the Transfiguration classroom blissful, but in the wake of the excited whispers that soon faded into nervousness. From what she had heard Professor McGonagall tell Harry, the champions were to open the ball with their dance partner. So who would that be in their case?

Beside her, Oliver frowned in thought as well. "I didn't think we'd be tested this fast," he muttered, probably to himself, "We only got together the day before yesterday."

As much as she hated to admit it, this probably _would_ push their relationship a little. With Cedric being a champion he would likely get loads of invites, not to mention that Oliver was a good-looking upperclassman as well. Hermione felt inadequate in comparison.

That feeling didn't last long, as Cedric caught up with them in the entrance hall. He gave Hermione a peck on the lips and more subtly squeezed Oliver's hand before steering them to the Gryffindor table. "I nearly got killed by glare galore from Krum on the way here," he announced as he nearly squished Hermione between himself and Oliver.

"Odd," the Keeper mused, taking a chicken wing from the platter in front of him, "I didn't think he'd be so... hard-edged about competition, after the stunt with Lowe."

The conversation veered back to the World Cup, leaving Hermione mainly to her own thoughts. It really was strange that Krum was acting like that... The few times she had seen him encounter Harry or Fleur, he had been nothing but polite. Perhaps it was something about Cedric himself that bothered the quidditch star.

It wasn't five minutes before Harry, Ron, Fred and George joined them, having been held back by Professor McGonagall for a rant about their immaturity. "Batty, that one," Ron said, taking the seat across from Cedric without noticing, "It's like she thought we were throwing doxy eggs at each other or something..."

"Doxy eggs?" Oliver asked, eyebrow quirking up as he noticed the new arrivals, "I thought the castle was cleaner than that..."

"No, it is," one of the twins assured him.

The other turned to Cedric and smirked, "By the way, did Hermione tell you about Ron and McGonagall?"

Ron turned fuchsia and practically climbed over one twin to try to shut the other up. It would have been entertaining if it wasn't at the lunch table. Still, the story spilled out as the twin further from Ron gleefully told Cedric all about it. By the end, Harry had footprints on his robes and Ron was trying to strangle his brothers rather than merely quiet them.

"Ronald Weasley!" Hermione finally hissed across the table at him, noticing that they were creating a scene, "Stop it this instant or I'll hex you!"

"I'll help," Harry and the twins offered at the same time. When they noticed, they all stared at each other before laughing.

When Ron finally settled back into his seat (still red-eared and glaring at the twins between bites), Harry asked, "Do you think we should start up our sessions again?"

"Do you think we'll have time?" Hermione asked pointedly, "You have to keep up with your homework, solve the egg, find a date for the Yule Ball..." The reminder of the egg made her stomach turn. Were they running out of time?

"I think that's all _why_ we need to practice," Cedric mused, "The stress will be enormous. We'll need to let out steam somehow, right?"

"Plus we don't know what the next task is," Oliver chimed in from her other side, "Knowin' a few more spells can't hurt."

Alarmingly, the twins looked interested. "Sessions?" "For what?" they asked, one right after the other. Even after all these years, it was disconcerting to listen to.

"Triwizard stuff," Cedric answered with a charming grin, "Training, research, boring stuff really."

As predicted, the twins lost interest quickly. Once they started discussing their next prank together (something involving Filch, a ballerina outfit and a chipmunk), the others put their heads together and started whispering across the table.

"But what about Lowe?" asked Harry lowly.

A glance at the staff table showed that the mentioned teacher didn't appear nearly as cold and calm as usual. In fact, her eyes were rolled to the ceiling and she was muttering something.

Oliver whispered with a tone of concern, "Is she trying to curse someone?"

It was Harry who replied, "I think she's praying. Considering who she's sitting between, I don't blame her."

When she looked again, Hermione snorted. Harry was absolutely right: Moody and Snape were sneering and snarling at each other over Lowe's head, with a light dose of Karkaroff from Snape's other side. Even Hermione would have hexed them all by then.

"Okay, so she has the patience of a saint," Ron put in with the same look Snape often wore around Neville, "What does this have to do with the tournament?"

The four who were already in the know gave each other a look. Finally, Harry explained haltingly with contributions from Cedric and Hermione what the situation was. It took less than five minutes, even with speculation about the Lowes' relations to the Notts.

Because of Cedric and Oliver's troubles and her insane giddiness, Hermione hadn't gotten the chance to tell them what Pitman had said. Thus it was that there were three purebloods frowning down at their plates, contemplating. "This leaves us at an impasse," Cedric murmured, uncharacteristically serious, "Do we trust the possible Death Eater or the overly paranoid former Auror?"

"Pitman and Bride didn't do anything to you when they locked you in the closet," Harry offered, "I think that we should keep an eye out, but use the rooms still." He was deadly serious, keeping eye contact with Cedric as if relaying an extra message.

The Hufflepuff nodded slowly. "If she _does_ pull anything, I doubt she can handle five of us at once," he added, a slow smirk curling the corners of his mouth.

"I almost want her to try, now," Oliver snickered. A glare from Hermione silenced him.

"She isn't an opponent to joke about," she reprimanded them all, "But past the issue of Lowe, I think using the room still is a good idea. Harry, Cedric, you might also want to think about some physical training. We don't know what the next task is, after all."

Harry and Ron looked positively mutinous. On her left, she could feel Cedric shrug as he said, "Well, it might help us escape the fangirls."

When she saw Harry's expression change to one of contemplation, Hermione felt the urge to smack her forehead. If only she had thought of that!

* * *

It was near curfew that Cedric managed to get Oliver and Hermione alone. "You know, I hate sharing you two," the Hufflepuff grinned from where he rested his head on Oliver's shoulder.

The Keeper couldn't help bumping the side of his head against the other boy's affectionately. "Too bad," he teased, "We have to share yeh, after all."

The had each managed to escape their duties, friends and admirers not very long ago, Cedric with noticeable relief. Now they sat on the clock tower stairs, one in front of the other. With Cedric behind him and Hermione cradled between his knees, Oliver hadn't felt so secure in forever.

"Professor Flitwick had a whole lesson about triad magic today," Oliver mused, "Probably because of us."

Interestedly, Hermione leaned back to look up at him with big brown eyes. "What did he say?" she questioned eagerly, "Triads are mentioned in most of the higher charms texts, but I haven't found anything specifically on them yet."

Sometimes she was too adorable for her own good, Oliver decided. It was the sparkle in her eyes whenever she was learning, and the fire when she was annoyed or angry. "Well, the word triad only properly refers to three people whose magic are permanently bound in a non-platonic bond, so we're technically a trio," he said slowly, trying to remember the actual phrasing, "They're really rare, only a few have ever been discovered and the last was during... err, I think it was the latest goblin rebellion." He squinted upward, trying to remember.

"That ended in 1812," Hermione immediately piped up, frowning.

Behind them, Cedric put in, "I think I remember my mum talking about them. Weren't they a quad, actually?"

"I think so," Oliver muttered, before shaking his head to clear it, "I don't remember the history much, except that only one or two had happy endin's. They mostly got murdered or manipulated by Dark wizards for their powers, and even potential triads are in danger of it. They can all draw on each others magic when they need it and sense each other, like a regular bond, but with three bein' the most magically powerful number of people that a bond can support, it seems to add somethin' extra. They almost always use wandless magic after bondin' for some reason. And, err, that's all I could really get, the rest was technical jargon." He winced at his lack of understanding when compared with his younger girlfriend. She probably would have soaked it all up.

"I doubt anybody in the class understood it all," Hermione mused, "It's very mysterious."

"At least we know there aren't going to be any Dark wizards out to get us," a smirk could be heard in Cedric's voice.

Hermione froze and Oliver rubbed her shoulders with his hands comfortingly. It took a moment for him to remember why she was troubled, but when he did it crested over him like a wave. He too stiffened, her description of her repetitive dream coming back vividly.

Sensing their turmoil, Cedric nuzzled into his neck, brushing his lips against the area beneath his ear. The warmth of his breath made Oliver shiver involuntarily, and he clutched his knees a little tighter around Hermione.

When she looked back again, her eyes widened. A gleam entered her eyes as she turned around, kneeling between Oliver's legs.

For the first time since he turned Snape's robes pink in his first year, the Keeper felt startlingly, wonderfully naughty. With Cedric kissing up his jaw and toward the corner of his lips, it was impossible not to. Heat followed the trail of kisses that trailed over his cheek to his ear, where Cedric was- oh Circe, that felt good.

Through half-lidded eyes, Oliver watched as the little witch in front of him leaned over his torso. She braced her elbows on Cedric's knees, bringing her almost close enough to kiss. But she just stayed there, blinking almost innocently at the show they were putting on.

When Cedric roughly bit down on a tendon in his neck, Oliver let out a groan of pleasure. Instinctively his eyes closed and he leaned his head to the side, allowing better access to his vulnerable throat. If he were with anyone else, the thought would have terrified him.

As it was, a soft pair of lips met his. Hermione pressed her mouth against his carefully, imitating his movements from before. It was sweet and slow, but not what Oliver needed right then; he opened his lips slightly and sucked on her lower one.

Hermione gasped and he took advantage of it, sampling her sweet mouth. Her inexperience was painfully obvious and he could almost taste her innocence as his tongue caressed hers. Her response was clumsy, but knowing that he was probably the first... A frightening urge came over him to show her exactly what she had been missing, to ruin her for any other man.

Harshly Oliver broke away, panting. He opened his eyes to the sight of her lips, swollen and shiny from their kisses. The cherry color looked appetizing and he almost leaned forward again. Instead, he turned his head to face Cedric.

The champion released the section of Oliver's neck that he had been sucking with a wet pop. It went against everything that the Keeper had been taught, but by Merlin, Cedric was gorgeous. In the moonlight his skin shone porcelain and his eyes were the color of quicksilver, now a thin ring around his engorged pupils.

Oliver's heart felt like it would thud straight out of his chest. Nervously he licked his lips and his pace sped up as Cedric's eyes drifted down his face. Slowly he nosed forward, hinting at what he wanted but somehow didn't have the courage to do yet.

A nibble at his collarbone made him gasp. His eyes rolled up and suddenly he was being kissed fiercely. Where Hermione had been gentle and fumbling with the newness of it all, Cedric had the finesse of someone who had done this often. Oliver's hands clenched on the Hufflepuff's knees as his mouth was plundered relentlessly, his world winding down to the lips exploring his neck and jaw and those kissing him senseless.

Moaning warbled through his ears to his brain. 'Who was that?' he wondered absently, one hand moving to the base of Hermione's spine. The fingertips of the other pressed harder into Cedric's knee when a large (but still smaller than his) hand ran through his hair. He swore he heard another moan, but this time he felt his own vocal cords tighten. Oh.

Almost as soon as that startling revelation came, the clock chimed loudly above their heads. They all broke apart, dazed, but Cedric still had the presence of mind to curse, "Damn, it's curfew!"

Oliver lost his balance getting up, still reeling. While yes he had made out before, it was never anything as intense as the feelings they brought out in him. The roar of blood still pounding through his veins was deafening.

As quietly as they could (with several pit stops on the way to make out a bit more) they made their way to Gryffindor tower. Luckily Filch, Mrs. Norris and Peeves stayed out of sight the whole journey and the Fat Lady was still awake in her frame. "A bit late, aren't you?" the painting sniffed imperiously.

"See you at lunch," Cedric whispered, kissing Oliver and then Hermione, "Good night." With a wink, he slid out of sight into the shadows.

"Good night," the Gryffindors both returned quietly. When their eyes met, they both smiled bashfully and turned a little red.

The Fat Lady giggled then, attitude completely altered from just a moment ago. "Oh, so it's you two that Vi was telling me about!" she exclaimed, surprised, "Handsome one you two have there, don't let him get away-"

"Fairy lights," Hermione told the painting quickly. The second the painting was far enough open to admit her she scurried in, Oliver following soon after.

They both collapsed on a sofa laughing, uncaring of the stares now leveled their way. None of them mattered as Hermione curled up, her head resting in the hollow of his shoulder. The other Gryffindors' gazes were drawn elsewhere when their mirth settled down, and they rested together comfortably.

"What _are_ we going to do about the Yule Ball?" Hermione questioned softly, "I don't think Cedric would be allowed to bring both of us." Her finger traced an abstract pattern into his shirt as she thought.

It felt like a leaden weight dropped into Oliver's stomach. "I... well, I don't like the thought of anyone else's mitts all over either of yeh," he admitted.

Hermione's eyes met his, the amber tones in her irises dancing in the firelight. "You think that Cedric and I should go together then?" she asked neutrally.

"I think yeh should open the ball together," Oliver said slowly, thinking it out as he spoke, "And then escape and join me as soon as yeh can."

"Then who will you come with?" Hermione questioned, frowning. As always, her enormous brain was trying to come up with a solution to please everyone. It was one of the reasons he liked her so much.

Acting nonchalant, Oliver shrugged. "It's not an issue for a bloke to go solo," he said more lightly than he felt, "Besides, yeh're goin' to come join me after the openin' dance. Right?" He did his best to hide his insecurities, grateful for years of perfecting his masks.

"It would work but... won't you feel alone?" Hermione asked doubtfully. She examined his face and eyes intently. Upon not finding anything wrong that she could see, she closed her eyes and let out a blustery sigh.

"It'll only be an hour, tops, sparrow," Oliver assured her, touching his forehead to hers, "I'll be fine. Cedric needs yeh more right now." He felt like a lunatic for trying to convince her to go with someone else, even if that someone else was Cedric. Then again, people in... err, like... were a little crazy anyway.

Still leaning together, Hermione nodded. "Alright," she murmured, "Now just to convince Cedric."

At the mere thought, Oliver groaned. That would be the hard part, since Cedric had always made a point of being so stupidly noble about things like this. The quidditch match with the dementors came poignantly to mind.

They stayed like that for a bit, foreheads touching and breathing calmly. It was so relaxing to not be bothered by tests (thank Circe), the tournament (for once), or even quidditch (as much as he loved the sport) for once. Oliver felt his eyelids droop alarmingly, but blinked rapidly and pulled back to shake his head a little.

"I think we both need some sleep," Hermione suggested. She slid onto her feet, careful to keep her skirt in its place, then smiled down at him. It felt strange for her head to be higher than his.

Feeling a little daring, Oliver scooted to the front of the sofa and pulled her face down to his. He was especially gentle with her this time, careful to keep himself completely reigned in. When he released her lips a moment later, he smiled up at her and whispered, "Good night, sparrow."

The light flush over her cheeks was adorable, he thought fondly. "Night, Oliver," she returned with a bright smile. She then turned and walked up the stairs to the girls' dorms, skirt swaying with the movements of her hips.

When he noticed that he was even looking at that detail, Oliver growled at himself. 'No,' he commanded himself, slouching back against the sofa, 'You're going to remember that she's young, curious and _not_ _ready_ for those kind of thoughts to be directed at her.'

Somehow, he got the feeling that Cedric and Hermione were going to be the death of him.

* * *

As predicted, Cedric had tried to be stupidly noble about the whole thing. When he suggested that Hermione and Oliver go together and he invite Cho Chang, however, the Gryffindors loudly put their foot down. Sometimes it wasn't such a bad thing that Cedric could be a pushover, Hermione mused as they stood in line to be checked off the Hogsmeade list that weekend.

It wasn't an actual date, much to her disappointment, but rather a group outing. With the dress shopping that Ginny, Bride and Pitman were dragging her to do later, there wasn't time this visit. When they heard that their presences weren't required, the boys all seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.

Even Cedric, as much of a gentleman as he was, didn't appear to be very fond of shopping. He had given her an interesting piece of instruction however, whispering into her ear in the carriage, "Don't worry about the cost. Oh, and ask the shop to hold onto it until the day before the ball." He hadn't explained his remark, and Hermione had more tact than to ask in front of Harry, Ron, Oliver and Ian.

When the carriages let them off at the gates they all tramped the rest of the way through knee high snow. Thankfully the Hufflepuffs and Oliver were all seventeen, so they were able to melt an easier path. It had saved Hermione the bother of accepting Ian's jokingly offered piggyback ride.

After he received glares from not only Cedric and Oliver but Harry and Ron, he seemed a little nervous of even looking at her again. It was rather obvious that he wasn't Gryffindor material.

As they neared the Three Broomsticks however, the group stopped dead in their tracks. With her perfectly coiffed blonde hair and ugly crocodile skin purse, none other than Rita Skeeter exited. "That ball is going to be big news, Reggie," she was snapping at a short portly man who followed her, "I want..."

Hermione didn't get the chance to hear what she wanted- she was physically dragged into the nearest shop. Once inside she was hauled down below window height, a hand over her mouth. Mumbling against the hand produced no response other than a collective, "Shh!"

Skeeter's words were indistinguishable as she passed the shop, still talking. 'Probably about defaming Harry more,' Hermione thought sourly. When she figured the danger had passed, she licked the palm over her mouth.

"Yeesh, sparrow," Oliver muttered cheekily, wiping his hand on his pullover, "If you wanted a taste, yeh coulda asked."

To her right, Ron looked horrified. "I'll thank you for never saying anything like that about Hermione again," Harry reprimanded, wincing slightly at the thought.

For their immaturity, Hermione whacked both over the head. Feeling her knees wobbling a little from the strain, she straightened up. "Coast is clear," she called dully, "No pesky reporters in sight."

The rest of the group stood, wiping off their trouser knees. "Where exactly are we?" asked Ian once he took a look around.

It was a good question, to be honest. That she remembered, Hermione had never been in this particular shop. She would have remembered the sheer assortment of merchandise it had, everything from jewelry to Dark detectors to books. The man at the counter who had been silent (and as nondescript as the shop was unusual) called, "This is Stroncek's secondhand store."

"Thank you," Cedric called, the grin on his face meant for charming, "Please don't mind us, we're just leaving..." He opened the door for everyone else to file out as his eyes roved the shop with interest.

Once they were out in the deep snow and biting wind again, Hermione decided she rather liked that shop. It was warm, reporter-free and had books. Once in the Three Broomsticks the secondhand shop was quickly forgotten in the flurry of butterbeer and laughter.

The time came all too soon for dress shopping. Hermione was having a great time with her boys, her boyfriends and Ian discussing how they thought Moody was going to be gotten rid of. The main contenders were a tournament accident, being carted off to the St. Mungo's permanent resident ward, and being fired, with Hermione voting for the last.

"What can you expect when he's performed illegal curses on the students?" she demanded irately, remembering the look on Neville's face. Combined with her own illogical misgivings, she intensely disliked Moody as a teacher.

At the end of the table, Ian snickered. "You should have heard it when he made Ced sing," he reminisced fondly, "It was hilarious, something about dancing Christmas bears."

There was a round of laughter from everyone except Cedric, who was pouting. "It was nothing of the sort," he protested, "It was about somebody who has amnesia. And look at what _you_ did, Mr. Cartwheels."

As Harry, Ron and Oliver laughed, Hermione frowned thoughtfully. 'No, that couldn't be right,' she thought, 'It's probably a coincidence.' Still, she put on her big doe eyes and requested innocently, "It sounds familiar. Could you tell me how it went?"

"Aw, your little lady wants to be serenaded," Ian cooed with a wicked look in his eyes, "You don't want to disappoint, do you Ced?"

The whole table seemed to pause and stare at Cedric. Cringing, he mumbled, "Err, maybe later, love."

"And you have such a nice falsetto too," Ian crowed, before warbling out some lyrics that didn't make sense and most assuredly weren't a part of the song.

The whole table, this time including Hermione and Cedric, laughed uproariously at Ian's antics. "Any serenading that has to be done is Oliver's job," the older champion teased.

On Hermione's other side, the Keeper mumbled something about a broomstick and the sun shining. She wasn't sure she wanted to know what exactly he said. As it was, his neck flushed deeper and deeper until it looked almost like he was wearing a bright red collar.

"I was teasing," Cedric assured him calmly, though his eyes sparkled with humor, "We'll take turns if ever the lady doth require it." He subtly squeezed Oliver's shoulder as he kissed Hermione on the cheek.

Right then, Ginny saw fit to appear at their booth. "Are you ready?" she asked expectantly, one hand on her hip. The pose vaguely reminded Hermione of Mrs. Weasley.

Alarm bells ringing through her head at the comparison, she nodded vigorously. "Sure," she answered quickly, "Let me just... uh, find a way out of here..." A little lost, she looked to either side of her.

On one side, everyone would have to get up. On the other, it was only Oliver. As if reading her mind, he shook his head. "Yeh'll have to pay a toll to pass," he told her quite seriously.

"Alright you big lug," Hermione sighed, rolling her eyes. She pecked him on the lips, expecting him to get up.

He didn't move. If anything, he looked even more determined to stay right there.

As Ginny began tapping her foot impatiently, Hermione sighed. "Fine, be that way," she snapped, clutching at her Gryffindor courage for what she was about to do. Without warning she climbed over him, catching herself from falling by clutching his shoulders.

It was obviously Ian who whistled, "Will you look at that!" The others were either too polite, being climbed on, or too afraid of her wand to even think of saying such a thing. She sent a scathing glare over her shoulder and Ian's expression of total innocence did nothing to absolve him.

Once she was standing, Hermione rolled her eyes at the absurdly quiet table. She swore that Harry and Ron were trying not to laugh at her expense. "See you at the castle," she finally told them before Ginny dragged her away.

At the entrance to the pub they met up with Bride and Pitman, who were grinning absurdly and smirking respectively. "Trouble in paradise?" the Ravenclaw asked slyly.

"Far from it," Hermione replied dryly, "Lead the way." Chances were that they knew the village's clothing shops better than she did; she only ever went into the Three Broomsticks, Honeydukes and the stationary and book stores.

As predicted, it was Pitman who led them to a fairly large boutique. "As much as I hate to say it, thank Merlin we stalled until the last minute," she sighed upon seeing it fairly empty, "It was a madhouse in here for a few days." She held the door open for the other girls, entering after everyone else.

Racks upon racks of both men's and women's clothing were spread throughout the shop, in every color and style Hermione could imagine. 'And then some,' she thought, horrified, as she saw an acid green mini-dress covered in ruffles. If any of the girls even thought of trying to stuff her into that, she would have their guts for garters.

Thankfully, they led her to the far left side of the store and away from the hideous creation. The racks were labeled according to price, Hermione saw when she looked near the top, with those on the far left being the cheapest and getting more expensive as they went.

It was strange, Hermione thought as she stared at the multitude of dresses. She was completely at ease in and even enjoyed the admittedly intimidating Hogwarts library. Now that she was in a dress shop, she had an inkling of how Ron felt in the stacks. She had no idea where to start or with what.

"You should try this on," Pitman suggested, pushing a dark blue dress into her arms, "I think you'll look good in blue."

"I'm thinking red," Bride smiled from farther to the right.

Ginny shook her head. "Remember, Diggory is a Hufflepuff," she countered, "How about something light and graceful?"

Thus it was that Hermione's shopping was commandeered by three very dangerous witches. Not ten minutes later she was stuffed into a dressing room with a pile of cloth in her eyes that she could barely see over. "Shout when you're in the first one," Ginny called from the other side of the thin door.

Immediately, Hermione disregarded a pointedly yellow dress. It really wasn't her color. Anything that stood out very much she put into a pile of rejects, leaving her with two dresses. On was a baby blush pink cocktail dress that she liked the feel of, the other a periwinkle ball gown.

When she tried on the pink, she wrinkled her nose. On her it was more of a nude color, giving the illusion that she wasn't wearing _anything_. As much as Cedric would probably appreciate it in other circumstances, it wouldn't do.

Once she had the ball gown on, it only took a glance in the mirror to decide. It complimented her hair color without washing out her skin, and the style reminded her of Belle's dress from Beauty and the Beast. The bodice was decorated with beading and embroidery and laced up in the back like a corset, all in pale gleaming silver, while the skirt and off-the shoulder neckline needed no decoration.

"I've found it!" Hermione yelled triumphantly, marching out the dressing room door. Almost at once the other witches were there, Ginny stumbling out of another dressing room in a horrible pink taffeta thing.

"Perfect!" "I knew it!" Bride and Ginny declared. While Pitman was silent, she nodded approvingly.

Feeling like a million galleons, Hermione did a spin. It was hard to not giggle when the skirt flew up around her ankles, she felt so pretty! Twirling back into the dressing room, she locked it behind her to gaze in the mirror again.

'They won't know what hit them,' she decided deviously as she slipped out of the gown. Carefully she put it back onto the hanger, admiring it one last time before she put her own clothing back on. Back to plain old Hermione Granger, she stepped out of the dressing room again.

As her "shopping buddies" were nowhere in sight, she took the gown straight up to the counter. "I'd like to put this on hold, please," she told the witch politely.

"What's your name and until when?" the older woman asked, quill posed over a pink slip.

Feeling awkward about the arrangement, Hermione gave all the information requested. 'Whatever Cedric is thinking, he had better make it work,' she thought as she stared at the sum due on December 23rd.

Figuring that it was his problem now, she went back to find Ginny, Titanica and Clodagh. There are some things you can't do without becoming even tentative friends. Finding the perfect dress for the only dance your school will probably ever have is one of those things.

* * *

-EOC-

How did that work for everybody? This is my first time writing a T-rated make-out scene (meaning that yes, I've written erotica before), so I'm kind of nervous about how well it worked.

Please leave a review and tell me how I'm doing!

-Thrae


	11. The Yule Ball

Thank you to my utterly fantastical reviewers: nikyta, asianstotheleft, EllaLewis, Booklover9477, Cassie-D 101 and LeonaMasha.

Disclaimer: I own nothing under copyright. I only own Moira Lowe, Titanica Pitman, Clodagh Bride and the Head Hunter Hex.

* * *

Chapter Eleven: The Yule Ball

The days until the Yule Ball were a flurry of activity for Hermione. Between the winter homework, nearly daily practice sessions in the dueling room (Cedric was right, it did relieve tension), spending time with her friends and boyfriends and figuring out what she was going to do with her hair, she barely had room to breathe. Luckily, classes ended for the term on the 20th and gave her more time.

'What I wouldn't give for my old time turner,' she wished, practically swimming through the snow to get her dress, 'Not to mention a muggle snow plough...' The snow had just kept falling for nearly a week, the most she had yet seen at Hogwarts. Even the Durmstrang students appeared to be getting irritated with it.

The rush of hot air when she opened the shop door was heaven. Although her nose began running as soon as she stepped inside, it was a minor issue. She could deal with it as long as it didn't get all over her dress.

Sometimes she really hated being a girl.

Stomping a little in the doorway to loosen any snow on her clothing, Hermione started to warm up again. Once there was little chance of making a trail, she walked up to the counter where the same older witch sat with an amused expression. "I'm here for my dress," Hermione said, holding out her pink slip.

With a glance at it, the witch went to the back room. She came back with a large white box in her arms, which she slid across the counter to Hermione. "There you are dear," she said distractedly, marking the slip and another piece of paper, "Have a nice time."

Confused, Hermione looked from the box to the witch. "How much do I owe you?" she asked pointedly, digging through her pockets.

"Nothing," the witch told her, eyebrows raised, "I thought you knew your date was going to pay for it, that's the usual reason ladies place things on hold here."

Breathing a sigh of relief, Hermione still brought out her money pouch. Inside were three more pink slips, which she handed to the witch. "Those too," she said unnecessarily, cursing her urge to be nice. It would be hell to get Ginny, Titanica and Clodagh's dresses to the castle as well as her own.

With a look of pity, the witch returned to the back room and reappeared with three more large boxes. None were so big as Hermione's however, and one was actually about half its size. "Do you need me to shrink them for you?" the shopkeeper asked around the pile, "They're all paid for."

Gratefully, Hermione nodded. "Thank you," she sighed, putting the receipts in her bag.

With a few waves of her wand, the witch shrank and waterproofed the boxes. "Thank you for coming to Gladrags Wizardwear," she said more genuinely than before, "Have a nice time, dear."

With that, Hermione put the boxes into her pockets and left. Before she had to trudge through the snow however, she was hauled around the edge of the building into an alleyway. "Mmmf!" she tried to shout, but a hand was over her mouth.

The smells of parchment and aftershave washed over her unexpectedly, calming her racing heart. Relaxing in her captor's arms, Hermione tilted her head back slightly to glare at him.

Cheeks flushed more than usual from the cold, Cedric leaned down to kiss her forehead. "Sorry," he whispered, "I saw Skeeter over by the Hog's Head. If you promise to be quiet, I'll let you go."

Although she understood Cedric's reasoning now, that didn't mean she was pleased. Reluctantly, Hermione nodded. The moment the hand over her mouth vanished back to his side, she whispered fiercely, "You do realize I would have hexed you if I hadn't realized it was you!"

Cedric winced. "I'd rather take the chance than get caught by her," he returned, "At least hexes are usually reversible."

Unable to help it, Hermione snickered. "You never know with me," she told him, turning around in his arms, "I'm not mad anymore, but this is your only warning." She raised an eyebrow at him, willing him to take this seriously.

"I'll remember," Cedric promised, schooling his face to such solemness that one would think his puppy had died. The sparkle in his eyes belied it, however, and he swiftly captured her lips.

Shivering, Hermione huddled closer. It was unfair how he was so warm, she thought while she still _could_ think, as he wrapped his arms more securely around her. Feeling daring, she opened her mouth and licked at his lips.

Despite the snow soaking into their clothing and the noise they were beginning to make, they kissed until they had to pull away for breath. By that time, her hands were pressed against his shoulder blades under his cloak and one of his was sunk deep into her curls. Cedric pecked her one last time on the lips before reluctantly drawing away.

"We should get back to the castle," he suggested, slowly picking his hand out of her hair. When he realized he had knotted it up around his fingers, he chuckled, "Your hair really is unmanageable."

Embarrassed, Hermione closed her eyes and left him to it. Her hair always was a source of frustration for her. She pessimistically wondered if this would finally bring him to his senses.

Instead, his hand left her hair and he pressed his lips to the crown of her head. "Come on," he urged softly, holding out his newly freed hand, "Let's go."

Neither realized as Cedric melted an easier path back to the castle that a camera had been clicking away the whole time.

* * *

The day of the Yule Ball found Hermione a nervous wreck. She managed to hide it during breakfast, their practice session in the dueling room and then lunch. Harry and Ron finally noticed that her teeth were smaller than before (boys!), leading to a very awkward not-quite-diversion in the form of a snowball fight.

It started small- Ron being hit on the back of the head by a snowball and turning around to find Oliver whistling innocently. Then the rest of the group had joined in, laughing and shouting at each other. At one point Harry and Cedric cheated so immensely (tackling Oliver into the snow) that the fallout hit none other than Viktor Krum.

Everything stopped when they realized that. Almost fearfully, Harry had looked up to see if Krum was angry... only to get a snowball to the face. Thus the snowball fight turned into a full snowball war.

Soon enough, all four houses and three schools were out on the grounds. Some people packed together into teams, others were in a free-for-all, and in the meanwhile there seemed to be a game of capture the flag going on. Or rather, capture the Hermione.

"Let me down!" she shouted, though her wide grin belied her tone, "Cedric Diggory, if you do not let me down right now-" Not nearly as hard as she could have, she beat on his broad back and wriggled where she was thrown over one of his shoulders.

"Sorry, love!" he called, laughing, "Got to get the princess safely back to her fortress!" Nearly as soon as he said that, he ducked and Hermione swore she heard one of his knees pop.

A snowball barely missed Hermione's rump, at this point the highest part of her. "If you hit me, I'll hex you!" she threatened whichever Weasley twin had thrown it.

Not a minute later she was set down behind a snow wall being fashioned by a boy and girl from Beauxbatons. Firing snowballs from inside their fortress were Harry, Ron and Oliver. As soon as she had been carried back, Ron yelled, "And now we CHARGE!"

Everyone but Oliver and the boy from Beauxbatons ran to the other side of the wall to attack. Hermione watched with an incredulously raised eyebrow, her arms crossed over her chest. "If this isn't absurd, what is?" she muttered to herself.

"It's fun, is what it is, sparrow!" Oliver called over his shoulder. His eyes were sparkling and the crooked grin on his face showed a row of straight, shiny white teeth. Her parents would probably adore him just for that.

In an unexpected move, several boys from Durmstrang ambushed the trio from behind. While three pelted Oliver and the poor Beauxbatons boy with snowballs, one tossed Hermione over his shoulder and ran off.

With a haughty sniff, Hermione simply folded her arms over her chest. 'It's not like it'll do any good to threaten him,' she thought dryly, watching the Durmstrang attackers quickly follow her kidnapper. One was Viktor Krum.

Almost as soon as she was set down in the area they had declared to be theirs, Hermione was carried off _yet again_. "What the bleeding hell-" she cut herself off, before shouting, "Do I look like a rag doll?"

"Of course not!" Titanica's voice answered from under her, "You look like a princess in need of rescuing!" Only the rust red ponytail ending right beside her face convinced Hermione that Pitman was actually the one carrying her.

"We're going in to get dressed!" Ginny yelled at someone, ducking when a snowball was lobbed at her.

With several near-misses, they managed to make it into the entrance hall. Once within the protection of the massive front doors, Hermione was set on her own two feet again. "I'm allowed to walk there, right?" she asked dryly.

"If the princess wishes to," Titanica answered smoothly, rotating the shoulder she had previously carried Hermione on. Otherwise she appeared unruffled, as if she routinely carried girls around on her shoulder that probably weighed as much as she did.

Deciding to let it go for now, Hermione sighed, "So where are we getting ready?"

"Aunt Moira's rooms!" answered Clodagh excitedly, dragging Hermione and Ginny forward, "She's going to help us with our hair and make up!" She was like a tidal wave as she dragged the other Gryffindors down the corridor that housed the new Divination classroom.

This time, they stopped in front of the statue of the man with the locket. "Kaiser Wilhelm der Grosse," Titanica called from the back of the group, and the staircase audibly ground into place.

A tingle of fear ran through Hermione's stomach. After all her thinking and avoiding Lowe, she was going to be face to face with her in under a minute. When Ginny prodded her, she slowly walked down the stairs to be greeted with an open green door.

Hermione was dragged through the parlor too fast to notice much more than dark woods and pale green cushions. When Clodagh finally stopped and released her, she was in a very large and luxurious bathroom. There were no windows, but candles floated through the air and rested on a ledge over a bath tub big enough to fit two. To one side was an amazingly huge shower, and to the other was a vanity with two sinks and a mirror that stretched from one end of the vanity to the other. Soft, fluffy looking purple towels rested in a ledge beside the shower and on a rack attached to the shower glass, and two white robes were hung on another rack by the tub.

"Get clean and put the robes on," Titanica instructed with a delighted glimmer in her usually cool grey eyes, "Come out when you're done." She then pulled Clodagh out of the room and shut the door with a soft click.

Unlike Hermione, Ginny didn't seem to have an issue with doing so. "Do you want the bath?" she asked, folding her jumper after she took it off.

"No, you take it," Hermione told her, stripping down quickly. She wanted to get in and out as fast as she possibly could. That same sense from the hallway was haunting her, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

Once she was in the shower (which to her envy was big enough for three people to comfortably use together), Hermione tried to ignore Ginny's attempts at getting her attention. This had been too long in coming, she realized, ducking her head under one of the shower heads. She had let her friend stew too long over too much juicy information and now there were a hundred or more questions waiting to be answered.

When she finally couldn't ignore Ginny any longer, she called, "What?"

"Do I have any change from the dress?" the redhead called from the tub.

Hermione was taken aback, and she frowned as she stepped out from under the water. Lathering up her hair, she answered, "Didn't you know that your date would pay for it?"

With an unladylike snort, Ginny responded, "That's only if your date is actually invested in you, like if you're dating or something. Weird, who would pay for my dress?" There was a strange whirring sound from the tub and Ginny squeaked.

"Are you alright?" Hermione called, sticking her hair out from under the water again.

"Yeah," returned Ginny in a delighted tone, "Just startled for a minute. Merlin, this is amazing!"

Cedric's instructions made more sense now. Well, they always led to that conclusion, but she just didn't want to believe it at first. When she was done she dressed in the robe as Titanica had said, raising an eyebrow at the miniature whirlpool in the bath tub.

"I'm done," said Hermione, smiling at the expression of bliss on her friend's face, "You coming?"

When Ginny simply sighed happily and shook her head, she left. Upon closer inspection, the sitting room was rather nice. The furniture had an antique look and in the corner was an enormous wizarding wireless that was pouring smooth jazz into her ears. Further setting the relaxing mood, Titanica, Clodagh and Lowe all sat in bath robes (Lowe's predictably being black) on the sofas. On the coffee table were several bottles of nail polish and butterbeer, cases of cosmetics and a bowl of Honeydukes chocolate.

"Is Ginny still in there?" asked Clodagh, popping a chocolate into her mouth. She tossed the wrapper carelessly into a basket on the floor.

Wary in the face of so many... girly objects... Hermione sat primly on a loveseat. It wasn't that she was afraid of cosmetics and nail polish, more that she was unfamiliar with them for the most part. She had never seen a use for them.

"I think she found a hidden function of your bath tub, professor," Hermione smiled.

"Ah, yes," Lowe smirked, "Whirlpool tub. Amazing after a hard day, practically gives you a massage. While we're in my rooms, please call me Moira, if I can call you Hermione."

Awkward as it was, Hermione nodded. "So, err, what's all this about?" she asked, though she already knew what the answer was as she waved a hand at the table. She hoped that she was somehow wrong.

"I thought you were smart," Titanica said drolly, "Make up, nail polish, butterbeer and chocolate!"

"A little self-pampering before we're reduced to being arm candy," Clodagh added after another chocolate. When the bowl was snatched from the table, she pouted.

With a snicker, Lowe threw a wrapper at her niece. "Save some for Hermione and Ginny!" she admonished, "Speaking of whom, someone needs to convince Ginny out of my bath tub."

All the occupants of the room who actually knew Ginny looked at each other warily. After a short argument and tussle, Clodagh ended up being the one sent in. Ginny's complaints could be heard loud and clear, making Hermione smile slightly; she really had to try that tub eventually.

"Now what?" Ginny pouted, plopping down beside Hermione on the loveseat. She reached over and took a chocolate from the bowl.

"Now, we get busy," Titanica grinned with a terrifying glimmer in her eyes, "Ginny... green, blue or silver?"

* * *

Two and a half hours later, Hermione walked out from the corridor nervously. She had been waxed, painted, slathered, oiled and plucked until she swore she wasn't human anymore. Would Cedric and Oliver even recognize her?

"Go on," Ginny urged, giving her a gentle nudge forward.

"Just a minute," Hermione murmured. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves.

The clicking of Ginny's heels as she passed was almost drowned out by the crowd gathering in the entrance hall. Titanica and Clodagh had already left to find their dates, while Lowe was called to the great hall before anyone else to supervise. Now that Ginny had gone out to find Neville, she was alone in the shadow of the stairwell.

"It's alright," Hermione told herself, much as she had right before being sorted, "It's just like any other day. Relax." She didn't feel any readier as she wrung her hands.

Finally she realized she was being ridiculous. 'I am a Gryffindor and I'm going to act like it,' Hermione decided. Chin up and hands hanging loosely by her sides, she strode out into the fray.

Whispers started almost immediately, but they were the kind that made only made her smile. "Who's that?" "Oh my, she's pretty!" "You think she'd save a dance?" She heard several variations, including one from Draco Malfoy that made her blush the whole way to her scalp.

It wasn't long at all before Cedric and Oliver came into view standing by the wall. They were even more ridiculously handsome than usual, Cedric's hair casually tousled as always and Oliver wearing a formal variation of a kilt. Seeing them laugh at something or another made her smile as she took tiny steps over to them.

"Hey," she breathed, giving them a nervous smile.

For a moment they looked at her, then each other, then her again. It was Oliver who thankfully squinted and asked, "Sparrow?"

Relieved that she hadn't had to say it, Hermione opened her lips in a wider smile. "Do I look that different?" she questioned, nervously fingering the curl that had been left loose.

"You've always been pretty, it's just now you're..." Cedric trailed off, seeming to not be able to find the right word. Instead he settled for, "I think I'm the luckiest bloke in Hogwarts."

"Remember, yeh better find me after the openin' dance," Oliver told them sternly. Hermione thought she saw a hint of insecurity in his features, but any was hidden behind his sparkling eyes and happy grin a second later.

Professor McGonagall then began ushering everyone into the great hall, giving Oliver an especially commanding look. Her lips were tight as she gestured for him to come inside.

"Save me that dance," he whispered. In the chaos of everyone else entering the hall, he took the opportunity to give Hermione and Cedric short pecks. By the time Professor McGonagall looked again, he was on the way inside.

With a last wink, Cedric and Hermione were left alone with the other champions and their dates. A tall seventh year boy caught her eye immediately; he had the look of a lost puppy as he stared at Fleur Delacour, who was chattering away. Hermione sniffed, unimpressed with them, while Cedric snickered, "Davies looks pathetic, doesn't he?"

Viktor Krum had come with a Beauxbatons girl who was listening attentively to whatever he was saying, although she probably didn't understand a word he was saying. They made as handsome of a pair as Krum could with anyone, considering that he slightly resembled a bird of prey. He kept sneaking glances her way however, with that same look in his eye from the top box.

Then there was Harry. In his dress robes he resembled a picture she had seen of his father even more than he normally did, although his face was more pale and he was shifting his weight from side to side nervously. Beside him, Parvati Patil looked very pretty in a pink and orange saree. When Hermione called quietly, "Harry! Over here!" they had to do a double take to figure out it was her.

"Wow Hermione, you look great!" Harry told her hushedly, grabbing her in a quick hug.

"You do too Harry," Hermione returned warmly, before turning to Parvati to say, "Pink is a good color for you."

It was right about then that Professor McGonagall began arranging them into a line. In front were Davies and Fleur, then Krum and his date before Cedric and Hermione, with Harry and Parvati taking the rear.

Hermione squeezed Cedric's bicep from where her arm was linked through his. The returning whisper of, "Don't worry. You're beautiful," had the same effect as a calming drought. It was probably the only reason she didn't freeze up when the doors reopened to admit them.

All eyes were on them as they proceeded through the hall to where the staff table usually was. It was especially satisfying to see Malfoy turn a horrible grey color when he realized it was her. 'He can stick _that_ in his pipe and smoke it!' she thought gleefully, though she kept her shy smile as she circled around to the far side of the long table at the end of the hall.

Acting the part of a gentleman, Cedric pulled out her chair for her and pushed it in once she was seated, before taking his own. That placed her between him and Krum, with Harry and Parvati across from them. Further down the table she recognized Percy Weasley with a jolt of shock. What was he doing there and where was Mr. Couch?

It was a hassle figuring out how to get their food, but once Dumbledore demonstrated, it was easy to figure out the rest. Dinner was strange, and Krum really did seem to have something against Cedric. The Bulgarian for the most part ignored his date, talking to Hermione when he could.

Though she replied politely, Hermione was uncomfortable. Cedric's jaw was clenched through most of dinner and she swore she could hear his teeth grinding together, while Harry appeared as mystified as she felt. Parvati seemed to be more glum than anyone however, picking at her food until the first dance was announced. Despite being her date, Harry wasn't paying her much attention.

Only then did Hermione finally get a glimpse of Oliver. He had gotten a table at the very edge of the dance floor with the rest of the Gryffindor quidditch team plus Neville, Ginny, Ron and Padma Patil. When he saw that he had been noticed he gave them a gentle smile and a nod.

Feeling lighter, Hermione turned her attention back to Cedric. The music started with a flourish and suddenly she was flying around the room. Used to Oliver's longer strides, she stumbled a time or two but got the hang of it quickly.

It was their own little world for a few moments. Nothing outside their little bubble existed anymore, just the hand at her waist and the other encasing hers, and the handsome face tilted down to hers. "You're good at this," Cedric noted, spinning her out, "Let's take this up a notch."

Getting a sense of something remarkably twin-esque starting up, Hermione's eyes widened. "Don't tell me-" she was cut off when she was suddenly lifted into the air. It was only a few seconds before she was back on the ground and spinning, just enough time for her hands to almost tear a hole in Cedric's dress robes.

Unable to be mad at him for it, she laughed. "Do your worst!" she challenged brazenly.

Oh, he did. Right up until Madame Maxime and Professor Dumbledore entered the dance floor, Cedric pulled every recognized dancing trick that he knew. From twists to spins to even tango moves, he kept Hermione on her toes literally and metaphorically but never once threw her off.

Then the rest of the students were beginning to dance and Oliver was at their side. "Can I steal the lovely lady for a dance?" he requested, grinning.

Cedric bowed out gracefully, only to be seized by Fleur. Looking completely confused, he still danced with her for few moments while Davies watched on with a frown.

That wasn't the end, Hermione was surprised to see. The champion all switched dates at least once, and so she ended up in the arms of Krum, Harry and finally Davies, who wouldn't stop scowling at Harry and Fleur. Four dances after their first, she was finally handed back to Cedric.

That was about when the music changed. An enchanted assortment of orchestra instruments had been playing waltzes before, where now the wizarding rock band The Weird Sisters took the stage. Almost immediately after they were introduced, the dance floor became something between a typical dance club scene and a mosh pit.

"Let's go in!" Oliver yelled over the music. Without a thought to Hermione's squeaking protests, he pulled her and Cedric into the crowd.

If it weren't for Cedric and Oliver's large, protective presences, she would have been afraid of getting crushed. As it was, her feet got trodden on by several different people within a minute of entering the crowd. She gripped Cedric's hand more tightly behind her, unwilling to let go yet.

Only when they were in the middle of the crowd did Oliver stop dragging them, although the throng around them still moved them. Even trying to stand still, Hermione was buffeted around. "What now!" she yelled over the music.

"We dance!" Cedric shouted in response.

Unsure of how to dance to this music, Hermione copied what she saw other people doing. It helped that Oliver and Cedric had moved to block her in, taking away the fear of getting smashed into someone she didn't know. After a few minutes, she finally started getting the hang of it and having fun.

Behind her Cedric had put his hands on her hips, swaying her with the movement of the crowd. His body brushed hers occasionally, making her instinctively hypersensitive of him. Over the din of the music and shouted conversations she could vaguely hear him singing along.

In front of her with his back to the stage, Oliver grinned crookedly, sweat shining on his forehead. The heat in the middle of the crowd was incredible, and he was a human furnace anyways under the dress tartan he had donned for the night. It was especially evident when he drew closer and put a hand over Cedric's, the other taking hers.

Sandwiched between two handsome men, the crowd moving them this way and that, Hermione felt like someone else. She wasn't the uptight bookworm or a third of the "Golden Trio" or the brightest witch of her age. That night, she was just Hermione.

A few times she caught sight of her friends. Ginny in her beautiful dress that an unknown third party had bought her; Titanica with her daring thigh high boots; Harry and Ron sitting off to the side sullenly; Neville, disheveled and glowing in the dim lights; Clodagh being twirled around from Fred to George or visa versa. She even caught a glimpse of Lowe at one point, who managed to retain a strange sort of grace in her black and grey formal kimono despite that she was partying like a teenager.

Hermione danced and danced, sometimes singing along and other times just letting the music wash over her. Toward the end of the ball however, things got heated. There was a certain appeal to making out on the dance floor, she decided when Oliver's lips descended upon hers. It was like they were under a notice-me-not charm.

Unlike before, Cedric didn't participate. Instead, she saw when Oliver broke away from her lips, he was watching them with naked hunger in his eyes. It was almost frightening in its intensity.

As if in reprimand for letting her attention wander, Oliver gently bit her pulse point. Between that and that kissing-sucking thing he was doing to the skin of her neck and shoulders, Hermione found it difficult to keep her head. Leaning back against Cedric, she struggled to tone down a moan.

"Careful!" Lowe's voice was out of focus and a little warbled in Hermione's fuzzy brain, "You might want to take that somewhere else!"

Oliver pulled away from Hermione's collarbone then, frowning as he gazed around. "We might want to do that," he suggested mildly.

There was no need to debate. It took just a few seconds to look into each others' eyes before they vacated the dance floor, the boys protecting her still. It was difficult to not run out of the great hall where they were under the close scrutiny of the staff.

The second they were up the grand staircase, they sprinted to the nearest abandoned classroom and didn't leave for a very long time. Yet again, they were unaware of a tiny clicking sound.

* * *

-EOC-

The Yule Ball was definitely an interesting scene to write. I didn't want to go the usual route with Ron making Hermione cry since... well, Cedric and Harry working together gave him a different view on the definition of "enemy" and she obviously wasn't Krum's date this time around.

For reference, no they didn't have sex. They still have a ways to go before they reach that level in their relationship, especially when Hermione's age is considered.

Leave a review and tell me how I'm doing!

-Thrae


	12. Unicorns and Riddles

Thank you to my utterly wonderful, amazing fantabulous reviewers: Whisper Gypsy, LeonaMasha, asianstotheleft, Booklover9477, nikyta, Guest, anmarie and Legolas's Mione0233. Thank you for writing the bulk of over 50 reviews, you guys! It makes me feel incredibly loved.

Whisper Gypsy: That has to be the best compliment anyone has ever paid my writing. Thank you so much for your high thoughts of my work!

Disclaimer: I do not own anything under trademark, nor do I own the definition of the bubble-head charm, which I took from the Harry Potter wiki. I only own Moira Lowe, Titanica Pitman, Clodagh Bride and the Head Hunter Hex.

* * *

Chapter Twelve: Unicorns and Riddles

Christmas came and went with the usual supply of presents, plus two. Both were in rather small boxes, one long and narrow and the other square. When she opened them however, she had to put her hand to her mouth to keep from alerting her dorm mates that something strange had happened.

The oblong box was from contained possibly the most beautiful silver and sapphire bracelet she had ever seen. It was shaped like a braid, with the ovular stones set between the crossing strands. The note inside the box read:

_I know that you love reading, but sometimes you need to give that big brain a break. Hopefully this is more memorable than a book. I've put a few protective charms on it (you really do need them, with all you get up to!) and if it ever breaks, all the pieces will come right back together._

_Love, Cedric_

As soon as she put the pretty trinket on, Hermione opened the other box. She had a feeling she knew who this one was from... The message attached to this gift proved her right.

_Sparrow,_

_Fred and George helped me with the charms on this, but don't worry! It won't spew dye all over you or anything stupid. I watched the whole time to make sure. I trust you'll figure out what we did when you open it._

_Yours, Oliver_

Looking over the notes again, a warm feeling bubbled up in Hermione's chest. It felt nice to receive notes like that from someone who didn't mean it in a familial sense.

Curious now at what Oliver meant, she unwrapped the package eagerly but was more careful opening the box. It was a silver locket encased in a bracket that if she was right, allowed it to spin freely. Not seeing anything unusual about the outside, she figured that any spells probably would have been cast on the inside.

When she opened it, she couldn't help but let out a gasp as she realized what they had done. The inside of the locket held memories. Literally, memories floated in the sides of the locket; she could tell from the smokey outlines of the images. On one side her first year self stood on a chess board with Harry while Ron rode a stone horse. The picture changed to second year, a memory she recognized as her and Ron trying to tell Harry what it meant to be a Parselmouth. When she looked at the other side, images of herself with Oliver and Cedric this year were shown: meeting at the World Cup, the night at Cedric's house, the broom closet, the clock tower stairs, the ball...

Against Hermione's will, her lip trembled and she could feel her eyes moistening. This had to be the most thoughtful gift she had ever received. To say the least, she felt rather unoriginal: she gave Oliver a new quidditch play book and Cedric an enchanted razor.

She found out later that they didn't mind. They were even wonderful enough to give her a... demonstration of gratitude.

Otherwise Hermione was excessively pleased to hear screeching emitting from Harry's dorm during the evenings after the Yule Ball. He was working on the egg now, even if his dorm mates were on the verge of killing him for the noise.

That neither he nor Cedric had managed to figure it out was concerning. From the way that Fleur's glow had diminished and Krum only grew more surly, none of the champions had made any headway.

Krum. Now there was a can of worms Hermione wasn't sure she wanted to venture anywhere near. At least, not until he stopped giving her those strange looks and glaring at Cedric and Oliver whenever they encountered one another.

Normally she wouldn't even entertain the notion, but it seemed like he was... jealous? Of them? Over... her? It was so ridiculous that Hermione removed any thoughts of the Bulgarian from her mind aside of possibly murdering the giggling fangirls that invaded the library.

Instead, she poured all her effort into the practice sessions with her boys, now including Titanica. The Ravenclaw repeatedly made mincemeat of Ron, while Hermione practiced with Cedric and Oliver helped bring Harry up to speed. It was almost scary how capable Cedric was and how rapidly Harry improved.

Everything went almost smoothly until their first Care of Magical Creatures lesson of the term. That was when everything slumped right back downhill.

It was unicorns. While normally that would be nice, safe and possibly even fun (despite her not being a horse person), Hagrid wasn't there. Instead, there was a witch named Grubbly-Plank who refused to answer any questions about him.

"Boys keep back!" the substitute barked, "They prefer the woman's touch, unicorns. Girls to the front, and approach with care, come on, easy does it..."

Hermione did as she was told, leaving Harry and Ron to their own devices. Near the back of the crowd, she examined what she could see of the unicorn with interest. It was so white that the snow around it looked grey and it had golden hooves and a long, silvery horn that looked a little too sharp for her tastes.

The other girls had their turn stroking the unicorn and the crowd slowly began to clear out. When Hermione was one of the few left, the unicorn stood at attention and... was it _glaring_ at her? With a roof-shaking neigh it charged straight at her, head down and horn poised for attack.

She dove to the side and quickly scrambled out of range. Heart racing in her chest, Hermione spider crawled back to where Harry and Ron were.

Only when Grubbly-Plank was calming the unicorn did Hermione feel alright to make a sudden movement. She got to her feet and brushed the snow off her robes, though she never looked away from the creature.

'What just happened?' she wondered, staring at the now docile beast, 'Why did it attack me?'

Malfoy's voice jerked her back to reality. "Looks like the unicorn can tell a mudblood when it sees one," he sneered derisively. He was ignored.

Instead, Ron turned to her and asked hoarsely, "What the bloody hell was that?" He was pale under his freckles.

"I... don't know," Hermione mumbled in answer. For once, she honestly _didn't_ know what had happened, and she wasn't sure she wanted to. It was a bad sign for a unicorn to try to attack someone, usually the sign of that person being a Dark magic practitioner. But she wasn't...

The lesson ended quickly, but Hermione barely noticed. She was too caught up in (and horrified by) being attacked by a _unicorn_ of all things. The purest of beings, probably the most gentle animal in the forest, hated her enough to try to gore her. What was happening?

When she was kept behind after class, that was the question Grubbly-Plank wanted an answer to as well. The look in the substitute teacher's eyes was hard even as she tried to explain that she didn't have a _clue_ what was going on. Her attitude toward Hermione was no warmer by the time she dismissed her.

Luckily that was the last class of the day. Instead of catching up to Harry and Ron however, she vacated to the library to try to find out _why_ a unicorn had tried to kill her.

Six books and three hours later, she finally found something. It was in a tiny, beaten volume entitled "Magickal Bestes and the Syt", a desperate last resort. She skimmed through most of it until she found the section on unicorns.

Through the flowery writing style that surpassed archaic, she finally found what she was looking for... and slammed her head down onto the table. At the moment it didn't matter that she might have given herself brain damage or that Madame Pince would surely be on her tail. No, she was too frustrated that her only useful source of information pointed to a conclusion she had been talking herself out of since the World Cup: she was some sort of seer. Apparently unicorns really don't like seers, though there's no evidence as to why.

'Bugger me,' Hermione thought, banging her head on the table edge several more times but more gently than the first, 'I don't believe in that stuff! How the bleeding hell-'

"Ms. Granger, thank Merlin I found you," Lowe panted, cutting her out of her thoughts, "There's something- I need to talk to you." When Hermione looked up, she was startled to see the raw fear in the professor's eyes.

"Of course, professor," Hermione frowned, packing up her bag- minus the stupid unicorn book. In record time she was speeding out of the library, calling out an apology to Madame Pince as she went.

To keep up with Lowe she had to sprint, following her through several hidden passages. The whole time she wondered frantically what had happened, her mind concocting the most horrible images available. Was it Cedric? Harry? Oliver? _Ron_?

They came out in the corridor to Lowe's rooms, the passageway melting into what looked to be a solid wall behind them. "What's going on, professor?" Hermione finally asked, following her into the classroom.

"Your paper," Lowe told her, "It's missing."

Hermione froze in horror, the color draining from her face. "_That_ paper?" she croaked. Fear began to eat at her insides with what all that implied.

"Boudicca," Lowe told the statue in front of her office. As the staircase ground its way up, she turned her head and nodded tersely. She beckoned the younger witch upward, taking the stairs two at a time.

It felt like legs were no longer under her control; Hermione felt numb. 'This can't be happening,' she prayed to whoever was listening, 'Today is not going well. At all. Please change your min and make it better, make it a misunderstanding...'

When she got up to the office, she was taken aback. It looked like the room had been ransacked, papers scattered on the floor and furniture flipped over. Some of the pretty crystal charms were even cut down from where they hung on the ceiling. "Someone was looking for something," Hermione whispered.

"And they found it," Lowe said grimly, "The transcript of your dream is gone. Thank Merlin I already coded it and threw the original in the fire." She pointed to the hollow leg of the bistro set as evidence. It was empty.

"Shit," Hermione cursed openly for one of the few times in her life, leaning back on the wall, "Shit, shit, shit... How good was your code?" She knew she looked desperate; hell, she _was_ desperate.

"Fairly," Lowe said, still grimacing, "If they do manage to crack it, it'll take them a long while. If it's a real prophecy, it will most likely have already happened by the time they figure it out." She danced forward, trying not to step on any papers as she went, to pick up a photo from her desk. "Which reminds me- is this the cup you saw?" she asked, handing Hermione the picture.

A gleaming structure of pewter and carved crystal that under normal circumstances would have looked beautiful, the sight made Hermione feel sick. Mutely she nodded, unable to take her eyes off the eerily glowing trophy. The future portkey.

"Alright, we're on the right track," Lowe said, sounding like she was trying to convince herself as much as her guest, "If it does happen, it'll be during the third task. We have a little more time." She closed her eyes and sighed, face tilted upward. "Do you still have the dreams?"

"Not as often as before," Hermione admitted, pulling her eyes from the photo, "They've been getting less frequent in bursts, like certain actions are warding them away."

For the first time since the ball, she saw Lowe smile. "Maybe you are," she mused, taking the picture back, "Maybe you are... I won't keep you any longer. Sorry for giving you a heart attack." Wandlessly and silently, the professor made a small fire flare up in her hand and burn the photograph to cinders.

Hermione wasn't sure how to feel with all the events that happened that day. She tried for a small smile in return, but had the feeling that she failed miserably. "Before I go, professor..." she said in a small voice, "Do you or Professor Trelawney have any trouble with unicorns?"

With a raised eyebrow, Lowe nodded. "Both of us do," she confirmed.

Her fears confirmed, Hermione mumbled an excuse and left as fast as she could. This was _not_ happening.

Did this mean that Trelawney wasn't such a big fraud as she thought?

* * *

The article about Hagrid had appalled Cedric, but Hermione's words to the reporter on the Hogsmeade visit after it was published were worse. If she wasn't before, Skeeter would be out for her blood now.

While it wouldn't be as bad as it could be on some accounts (her parents were muggles and his didn't believe a word Rita Skeeter reported), things would get rocky around Hogwarts. He knew how ugly girls could get toward each other, not to mention that the Slytherins would give everyone grief...

Then there was Oliver. If there was an article detailing how foul Hermione apparently was he would surely be mentioned, and if any of the rumors about his father were true, that would spell disaster for him. Even he had said that he didn't want anything to get back to Mr. Wood.

When they had been told about Hermione's now infamous blow-up in the Three Broomsticks, Oliver's face had gone steadily from a healthy peach on down the line to sickly green. No one should show that much fear about a measly piece of rubbish gossip. There was something fishy going on there, Cedric thought.

That inevitably led to worrying. Though between them Hermione was the big worrier, Cedric could fret himself into a corner if the circumstances were right. And right now, the stars were aligned, hypothetically speaking.

While he had been fascinated with Oliver since his second year, dating him had been nothing like he had imagined. (Yes, Cedric admitted to having daydreamed about that for years.) It was better. There was more to the Gryffindor Keeper than most people realized- a talent with magical creatures and his cast iron stomach came to mind.

Though he didn't see much use in it usually, Oliver was very capable of deep thinking. His invention of the nickname "sparrow" for Hermione was a good example, even better since he had been drunk at the time. "She's tiny," Oliver had explained when asked, gesturing with his hands all the while, "And even though she acts like nothin' phases her, she's more fragile than people think. Sparrows were sometimes kept as pets, but they don't do well in cages, just like she wouldn't in a manner of speakin', and they have really strong beaks like she has a sharp tongue for anyone who deserves it."

Each time he learned something new about Oliver, he couldn't help smiling. Even his faults- including his little known claustrophobia- made Cedric like him more. He didn't want to let him go, as Oliver would surely demand if that article came out.

Then there was Hermione. Where to begin with her, he had no idea. Although her age an the incident with the unicorn were concerning, she had integrated herself so far into his life that it was startling.

From her admittedly unmanageable hair to her ability to dance, she was astounding. Having her by his side felt natural, whether they were surrounded in the great hall or alone in Hogsmeade. Everything from her enormous brain to delicately rounded hips called to him. Even her fear of flying, while disappointing, he could appreciate because it made her... her.

Would _their_ relationship hold up if Oliver left them? Somehow Cedric didn't think so. Without Oliver's calming influence on them both, Hermione would be walking all over him without even realizing she was.

As he sat with his witch and wizard by the lake, he figured that right now life wasn't bad. The future was a long ways off, after all. The second task was sooner than he liked however.

"Harry's working on the egg too, but he's just as mystified as we are," Hermione reported with a roll of her eyes, "He's trying to tell me he's made progress. Liar." Obviously irritated, she glared at the egg sitting on his lap.

On Cedric's other side, Oliver requested, "Can I see that a minute?" Unlike the other two, he didn't appear bothered about it at all. His nonchalance about the whole egg ordeal was enviable.

With a heavy sigh, Cedric heaved the stupid thing into his boyfriend's lap. "Have at it," he invited, "As long as you warn us before you open it." He had listened to the egg's screeching long enough that he swore he would go mad next time. Perhaps he was supposed to go deaf and find a sound?

With an absent nod, Oliver tossed it in the air before catching it again. He examined it closely, turning it around and over in his hands before he paused at the top of it. "Sparrow," he murmured, frowning at the egg, "Is it me or does this look like a starfish?"

Curiosity obviously piqued now, Hermione leaned over Cedric's lap to look closer. "It does," she confirmed, tracing a finger along the bumps of the design, "Maybe it's a clue..."

"Starfish live in water," Cedric added in, "So maybe a change of conditions is needed?" It was a desperate hope, but he hadn't tried it yet. Maybe something would happen.

"Well, let's see," Oliver decided. He shifted to the water's edge, dunked the egg in and opened it. Bubbles streamed out, but it didn't sound like someone was being murdered. Being his usual instinctive self, his next step was to dip his whole head in the lake with the egg.

Beside him, he heard Hermione snickering. It _was_ a rather funny sight, Cedric thought, his own lips opening in a grin. Oliver looked like the proverbial ostrich, or perhaps someone attempting suicide, with his head and arms in the water up to his neck and elbows.

When he came up, his look of shock was photograph-worthy. It almost distracted Cedric from how good he looked wet. "It sings!" Oliver spluttered, "When it's underwater, it sings!"

"What?" Cedric asked, taken aback. Not thinking of his hair as he usually would, he dunked his head under the water and pulled apart the egg.

"Come seek us where our voices sound, we cannot sing above the ground, and while you're searching ponder this," the egg sang in an ethereal, otherworldly voice, "We've taken what you'll sorely miss, an hour long you'll have to look, to recover what we took, but past an hour, the prospect's black, too late it's gone, it won't come back."

By the end of the riddle, Cedric's lungs were burning with the need for air. He pulled his head up and gasped, then dunked it under again. It took three repeats to memorize it and by then his mind was swimming again.

"Well?" Hermione prodded once they an the egg were on dry land again, "What does it say?"

"Basically?" Oliver answered, taking long deep breaths, "He's got to keep a better watch on his stuff and learn how to breathe underwater." He too had gone under all three times.

Hermione's long-suffering look made Cedric chuckle. Obviously, she wanted the exact wording.

He wasn't sure he believed this. It _was_ unbelievable. Putting his personal feelings on hold, Cedric repeated the riddle out to Hermione like a poem. There was no way in Tartarus he was going to try to sing it.

"You did it!" she cheered, face lighting up, "Okay, so now we know where and what the next task probably is."

Warily, Cedric looked over his shoulder at the black lake. It looked even more ominous than usual, now that he had cracked the riddle. 'What would I sorely miss?' he wondered abstractly.

To him the answer was obvious: Hermione and Oliver. But surely they wouldn't do that...

When he remembered the dragons, he suddenly wasn't so sure.

* * *

Although she didn't believe in gambling, Rita Skeeter felt like she had won the jackpot. Laid out on her desk were photographs taken over nearly five months. They were all black and white, and all moving, but beyond that the only similarity was the subject: Hermione Granger.

At the mere thought of her, Rita sneered derisively. How _dare_ that little chit humiliate her like that! Oh, the girl had _no idea_ how miserable she would be after this next article came out. 'Revenge will be sweet,' she thought.

As she examined the photographs, she smirked. Though the senile old fool Albus Dumbledore had banned her from Hogwarts grounds, he didn't know that she had a secret. A very valuable secret that allowed Rita to get the information anyway. Sometimes it led her to even better discoveries than normal with the help of a camera specially made for her animagus form.

This was the current case. There were pictures of Granger and Potter embracing, which although sweet on their own were easily interpreted the correct way. A shot of Granger entering the Yule Ball on Diggory's arm was there, which when combined with the Potter pictures could incite a riot.

Then there were those so scandalous even on their own that it sent a thrill of anticipation through Rita. A photograph of Granger, Diggory and an unidentifiable boy making out on a set of stairs was one, and another was of the same trio in a classroom the night of the Yule Ball. A third featured Granger and Diggory kissing in a Hogsmeade alley. A rather innocent looking one was of Granger and a seventh year Gryffindor she had heard was named Oliver Wood snuggled together on a sofa.

The last was the sweetest of all to Rita, as it featured Granger, Diggory and the other boy (whose face was _still_ a mystery) in a less than wholesome position in the foreground while in the background Potter looked on sullenly. There was a large amount of people between Potter and the trio, but that didn't matter. The caption would say everything.

'Oh yes,' Rita thought, smirking as her quick quotes quill began a rough draft of the upcoming article, 'As soon as the second task is finished, Little Miss Perfect will be ruined.'

* * *

The look on Harry's face when he learned of the egg's contents would have been funny if the situation weren't so serious. There was a week left before the task and they needed to find a spell like... yesterday.

So it was that every free minute they had was spent in the library. Even Hermione was in the stacks more than she liked, and Harry and Ron with her. Sometimes Titanica and Neville would join them. As often as they could Oliver and Cedric were there, a couple of times even bringing Cedric's friend Ian.

Harry and Cedric had put more safety precautions on their bags and trunks, but Hermione wasn't sure they would do any good. As the days slipped away, she became more and more sure that it wouldn't be an inanimate object that would be taken. She didn't voice her thoughts however; the boys had enough to fear already.

Days slipped by as if someone had pushed a fast forward button on life. Between class, homework (done in the library), meals (more often than not sneaked into the library) and... the library, there was barely time to rest. As Oliver had joked tiredly, "We can sleep when we're dead."

He had better reason to be tired than any of them, Hermione thought. In June he was facing his N.E.W.T.'s, the most important tests he would ever take. They would decide his future for him, and yet somehow he was the one that seemed the least stressed of all of them. That he was helping at all made Hermione want to kiss him senseless in gratitude.

Finally two days before the task, Ian unearthed something. "The bubble-head charm is the most effective spell for breathing underwater or in any environment where fresh air is at a premium. It causes a protective bubble to form about the caster's head, like a helmet. This bubble may allow the caster to breathe underwater or protect the head from falling objects," he read out from The Standard Book of Spells Grade Six by Bathilda Bagshot.

"Oh thank Merlin," Hermione had sighed.

Meanwhile, Oliver had smacked his forehead. "Why didn't I think of that?" he had groaned.

In a resounding agreement, the rest of the group had blamed it on N.E.W.T. stress. By then it was already eight in the evening, so Harry and Cedric copied down the directions from the book before they all retired.

The next day, they set to work as soon as classes were over. Using Lowe's practice room, Harry and Cedric struggled under Oliver's coaching to master the bubble-head charm. Meanwhile Hermione studied and Titanica showed Ron how a muggle firearm worked.

Only late in the evening did Cedric manage to get it fully right. The result made Ron snicker when he noticed, however: it gave the appearance of a fishbowl being over his head. As soon as Oliver confirmed that he had done it perfectly he canceled it, glowing with pride.

"How do we know that it will last an hour anyway?" Harry asked, frustrated. He still hadn't gotten the hang of it.

With a wince, Oliver muttered, "Err, I don't."

The boys had all exchanged uneasy glances. When Titanica snickered however, a memory came to Hermione of a two person whirlpool bathtub. "Just a minute, I have an idea," she told them, hurrying to Lowe's quarters as fast as she could.

She found the professor reading a Playwizard magazine. Upon seeing Hermione burst into her sitting room without warning, Lowe raised an eyebrow. "What can I do for you at..." she trailed off, searching for a clock, "Nine at night?"

"Your bathtub," Hermione blurted out, "Cedric got the bubble-head charm, but we need to test if it'll hold for an hour. We need to use your bathtub." Only after she said it did she realize how ridiculous she sounded and blushed.

Lowe nodded. "Well, get him in here then," she sighed, sounding amused as she put the dirty magazine away, "I'll run the tap."

Thus it was that Cedric Diggory spent over an hour, fully clothed, in a teacher's bathtub.

* * *

-EOC-

Writing the last part was so much fun! I really loved getting up in Skeeter's business too- there's the answer to your question, Guest! Thank you so much everyone for your support!

Please leave a review and tell me how I'm doing.

-Thrae


	13. The Second Task

Thanks a million to: asianstotheleft, nikyta, Whisper Gypsy, Booklover9477, Terrence Rogue and Smudged.

Whisper Gypsy: I remembered that association after I first wrote the nickname in, but I didn't want to include it in the explanation since I'm pretty sure Oliver would never have heard of the book. I had briefly mused on "mouse", but it was too unoriginal. I'm glad to help you relax and get away for a while. :3 It's great to know that others love reading this as much as I love writing it.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything under trademark, including quotes borrowed from the book. I only own Moira Lowe, Titanica Pitman, Clodagh Bride and the Head Hunter Hex.

* * *

Chapter Thirteen: The Second Task

While Cedric was in the bathtub (when they left he was ogling the jets), Harry and Oliver struggled with the bubble-head charm still. Getting desperate, Hermione enlisted Ron and Titanica to help her look through Lowe's private library.

"There has to be something else!" she hissed, eyebrows sloped down into a hard V-shape. They needed a backup plan for if Harry couldn't get a hang of the bubble-head charm. It didn't look like he was going to in so little time.

At nearly eleven at night, Lowe appeared in the doorway with pursed lips. "Minerva- or should I say, Professor McGonagall- wants you Ms. Granger, Mr. Weasley," she told them, jerking her head back toward the stairs, "She's in her office."

Hermione and Ron looked at each other and reluctantly put down the books. "What does she need us for?" asked Ron as he got to his feet.

"I'm not supposed to tell you," Lowe said, "Just head to her office as soon as possible." She left down the staircase, robe flying behind her.

Horrified, Hermione felt herself go pale. Was Professor McGonagall going to tell them off for helping Harry so much? If so, then why were just her and Ron called?

"Please keep looking," she whispered to Titanica as she circled the table toward the exit, "If Harry doesn't get the bubble-head charm-" She didn't allow herself to finish her thought. Instead, she woodenly walked out the door and down the stairs after Ron.

In the classroom, Oliver waited by the door. "McGonagall wants to see you too, eh?" he asked, pale, as he examined the fourth years. Not needing an answer beyond their presence, he opened the door and led them out.

The walk was silent. Hermione's mind was buzzing with a prayer of, 'Please, don't tell us off. Just let us go back to Harry, please...' It took a minute for her to feel Oliver take her hand. When she did, she squeezed it for reassurance that he wasn't able to give.

When they got to Professor McGonagall's office, Hermione's previous thoughts were proven right: they were the champions' tokens. There were four chairs set up in front of the desk, a girl of about nine years sitting quietly on one. She had the same silvery blonde hair as Fleur, giving Hermione the thought that she was a relative. Behind the desk, Professor McGonagall sat and Professor Dumbledore stood.

"Ah, Mr. Wood, Weasley," she greeted them, the skin around her eyes tight as she gestured to the chairs, "Ms. Granger. Please have a seat."

Ron took the seat beside the little girl and Hermione claimed the chair beside him. "Is this about the task?" she dared to ask.

"Yes, Ms. Granger," Professor McGonagall replied, giving her a tight smile, "You four are going to play a part in the next task as the thing each of our champions would sorely miss."

The hand holding hers gripped it tightly. "But, err, professor," Oliver protested, "Who's here for Krum?"

Professor Dumbledore answered this time, a strange look in his eyes. They weren't twinkling quite as much as usual. "According to Headmaster Karkaroff, Mr. Krum has no close friends at Durmstrang," he replied calmly, "Though he does seem to have a fascination with Ms. Granger." He gestured to Hermione subtly with one hand.

It was impossible to comprehend. "Me?" she asked shrilly, "We've never even spoken-" She cut herself off, trying to think of what the bloody hell they meant. Only a few flashes came to mind, in which he was looking at her with that strange gleam in his eyes from a ways away. Not to mention that he and his hoard of giggling fangirls were always inhabiting the library near her usual spot.

Eventually, Hermione grudgingly accepted the situation. It seemed that for some reason an international quidditch star _had_ taken an interest in her. "What do we need do for the task?" she finally sighed.

"You will be put into an enchanted sleep and placed at the bottom of the lake," Professor Dumbledore told them, gaze sweeping over each of them in turn, "It will be the champions' task to rescue you. If one or more fails to retrieve their target, we will get you out. Are you willing to do this?"

Hermione looked down at her lap, chewing on her lip. Though it sounded dangerous, it was Professor Dumbledore. He wouldn't do this if there were a high chance of something going wrong.

"What would happen if we weren't willing?" Ron asked hesitantly.

"Then you would still be put to sleep, but left in your dormitory until the task begins," Professor McGonagall answered snappily, "Does that mean we should fetch Mr. Potter's next option?"

Ears turning red, Ron sank down in his seat. He shook his head. "I'll do it," he muttered.

"I'm in," Oliver shrugged.

The little girl nodded silently.

Hermione was the last to give an answer. "Alright," she finally sighed.

They were each handed a chocolate cupcake. "This contains a powerful sleeping draught," Professor McGonagall explained, "Eat it all. The next thing you know, you'll be waking up on the surface of the black lake."

To her right, she saw Oliver dispose of his in two large bites. To her left, Ron managed to get icing all over his face.

Though she didn't like the thought of being the thing Krum would miss most, she had already agreed to do it. So Hermione took a deep breath and in polite but quick bites, she ate her cupcake.

It was certainly fast-acting, as within a minute her eyelids got heavy. Her vision blurred and she lost feeling in her limbs, though she knew instinctively that she still clutched at Oliver. Everything went black after that.

* * *

According to Harry, everyone but Titanica and Ian had been called to see Professor McGonagall while he was testing the bubble-head charm. It had held, but that wasn't Cedric's main worry in the first place as he had lain in the bathtub.

Actual inanimate objects being taken would have been an anticlimax. Besides, what if the thing one of them most treasured was particularly small and got lost on the bottom of the lake? No, in a sick way it would make more sense to take a person. But which of Cedric's most important people would they have taken?

Images floated to mind all night of Oliver, Hermione and Ian being held hostage by merpeople. It made for restless sleep and by the time he woke, he felt little more rested than at midnight when he had retired.

A snore to his left drew his attention. It was definitely Ian's, too hoarse and loud to be anyone else.

That part of the dilemma solved, Cedric looked over at his clock. Six in the morning, great. With a groan, he rolled over and tucked his head under his pillow.

Five minutes later, he gave up on possibly going back to sleep. For better or worse, he was awake.

Unlike the week previous, it felt like the world had slowed down around him. All he wanted was to get the task done and over with, but time seemed to be moving so slowly... It took forever to get ready, to practice the bubble-head charm, to get to breakfast... He ate at the Hufflepuff table that day, unable to find Harry, Ron, Hermione or Oliver.

Ian's strange attempts at conversation didn't help anything. "If you die, can I have your broomstick?" he had asked hopefully.

In answer, Cedric smacked him on the head. It wasn't _him_ Ian should be worried about dying...

Even by nine, Harry still hadn't entered the great hall. Had he overslept? The task started at half after.

Despite being at breakfast for nearly an hour already, Cedric hadn't managed to swallow more than two bites. He was too nervous about the last part of the riddle- "Past an hour, prospect's black, too late it's gone, it won't come back."

They couldn't _not_ bring back whatever (or Circe forbid, whoever) they took! Hopefully even the Triwizard Tournament wasn't that cruel.

Finally it was ten after nine and Cedric left to go to the lake. It felt like his feet were sliding through mud with the effort it took to move. When finally he reached the stands erected around the edge of the lake, he felt like he had run a marathon.

"Have you seen Mr. Potter?" asked Professor Dumbledore the second he as spotted.

"He wasn't in the hall, sir," Cedric responded. Worry rose in his throat again as he looked over his shoulder at the castle. Where _was_ Harry?

It was nine-twenty-five when the fourth year finally appeared, robes wrinkled and hair in disarray. It looked like he had been sleeping on a book from the ink smudged onto his cheek.

"There you are!" Cedric hissed, "I thought you weren't going to show!" He clapped a hand to Harry's shoulder roughly.

"I thought I wasn't either," Harry said grimly. His hand was in his pocket clutching something, hopefully his wand.

"Did you get the charm?" Cedric asked anxiously.

The light in Harry's eyes burned brighter and the faintest shadow of a smirk curled his lips. "I got something better," he confided, "Dobby helped."

Confused, Cedric frowned. "Who's-" he was cut off by Professor Lowe moving them about ten feet apart. Oddly, she was wearing a rubbery looking black body suit instead of her usual turtleneck and jeans.

"Don't worry about the squid," she assured them in little more than a whisper as Professor Dumbledore announced the task, "It's the grindylows you've got to watch out for." She moved onto Krum, whispering something in his ear too.

It obviously wasn't encouragement, Cedric was oddly pleased to see. The Bulgarian had turned pale and nodded, shifting subtly away from Lowe.

"Well, all our champions are ready for the second chance, which will start on my whistle," Professor Dumbledore's voice boomed from the judges' table, "They have precisely an hour to recover what has been taken from them. On the count of three, then. One... Two... Three!"

Ignoring the cold, Cedric single-mindedly plunged into the water. Gooseflesh rose all over his body before his ankles were even fully submerged. He kept going until he was chest deep in the water before performing the bubble-head charm, praying for the same results as in Lowe's bathroom.

When the bubble extended over his head, Cedric dove into the water and began his search. 'Where do merpeople live?' he asked himself, following the curve of the lake bottom down toward the center of the lake.

Krum and Fleur went other ways, slowly disappearing into the grey tinged water. Harry took a little longer to even appear, but when he did it was spectacular. It wasn't an exaggeration to say he had something better than the bubble-head charm- he had fins and gills somehow. With a tight smile, the fourth year swam ahead of Cedric down into the deeps of the lake.

It seemed like forever before hints of song reached his ears. With new determination he swam forward until he saw exactly what the egg had been singing about. Tied to a statue of a merman with what looked to be seaweed were Oliver, Hermione, Ron and a little girl probably related to Fleur. They looked decidedly... dead, almost, pale and unmoving outside of the water currents tossing them about.

Shock numbed Cedric's mind for a moment. He had been right, the Triwizard Tournament really _was_ that cruel. Shaking himself out of his stupor, he finally noticed Harry struggling with the merpeople.

"Get lost!" he told Harry, swimming down to cut Oliver's rope with a knife he had brought, "Fleur and Krum're on their way!"

For a few seconds he looked at Hermione, pausing in his venture to touch her cheek. It was as obvious as her presence here that she was taken for Krum. After all, the Bulgarian champion didn't know who Ron was and had been glaring at Oliver ever since the broom closet incident.

Movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. It looked like a shark at first, but with a human body in red swim trunks...

Confident that Hermione was safe now, Cedric wrapped an arm around Oliver's waist and tugged him away from the statue. It was hard work hauling dead weight through water and he wasn't the strongest underwater swimmer anyway. Still, he strained his muscles to the max trying to get out of the water first.

The amount of light grew slowly as he swam up. 'Come on, come on...' he told his body, watching in his peripheral vision as Krum began to catch up, 'You can do this!'

When Krum was roughly ten feet away, Cedric broke the surface. The cheering from the stands were heartening, but Oliver spluttering and floundering in his arms was worth more than that any day. The sounds of Hermione's teeth chattering as she questioned Krum lightened his heart even more.

"P-please don't let g-g-go," Oliver squeaked, "I ca-an't swim!" Wide eyed, he clung to Cedric helplessly. He looked fearfully down into the water every few seconds as if he were afraid of being sucked right back down.

Now that they were on the on the surface, it was much easier to pull Oliver along. After canceling the bubble-head charm, Cedric panted, "Then I'm going to teach you later. By Merlin, you're heavy!"

When they were able to stand on the shallows of the lake again, Cedric's legs wobbled. If it weren't for Oliver now holding him up, he probably would have collapsed to his knees. Leaning on each other, they tramped up to the bank and into Madame Pomfrey's care.

"The lake in the middle of February, what were they thinking!" the Mediwitch fussed, wrapping Cedric so tightly in a blanket that it felt like a straightjacket. Hot potion was forced down his throat and he felt warmer instantly.

A bench provided welcome relief to his aching legs and he sat down heavily on it, followed shortly by Oliver. "Yeh did great," the Gryffindor breathed, teeth no longer chattering, "First one out, right?"

"Yeah," Cedric replied, watching Madame Pomfrey and Krum both fuss over Hermione. It left a tight feeling in his gut.

Seemingly noticing the same thing, Oliver grumbled, "Bloody tosser, thinkin' he has a chance with our sparrow..." He snorted, curling his body into a tight ball beside Cedric.

Though Oliver's gesture helped ground him, he still felt oddly... inadequate. Was that how Hermione felt before? He didn't like it but couldn't stop seeing traits in Krum that he didn't have and could be considered desirable. Compared to the Bulgarian he felt oddly skinny and unimposing.

The feeling mainly left, however, when Hermione rushed away from Krum to sit beside him. "You were fantastic!" she told him, eyes shining, "First place!" She gave him a congratulatory kiss on the lips before reaching over to peck Oliver on the forehead.

"Are you alright?" Cedric asked, examining Hermione for any harm, "I felt terrible leaving you behind like that..." That was the understatement of the year.

It was rather satisfying to see Krum get brushed off when he put a hand on her shoulder. Looking surlier than usual, the Bulgarian tried again. This time, Hermione pointedly moved away from him on the bench.

"You knew that he was coming for me," Hermione stated lightly, tipping her head back toward Krum, "It wasn't like I was going to die... Oh!" She gasped and jumped to her feet, taking the blanket wrapped around herself off.

When he looked, Cedric saw with relief that Harry had finally resurfaced. With him were both Fleur's hostage and Ron. They too were stumbling onto dry land, the little girl resembling a drowned cat as she clutched at Harry.

Now that he looked, Fleur was sitting on the other side of the judges' table with her headmistress. It seemed that something had gotten in her way. Now that her important person (sister?) was out of the water however, she was fighting tooth and nail to get to her.

On the other hand, Percy Weasley splashed right out into the lake and dragged his younger brother to shore. He looked much younger and paler than usual to Cedric. 'Probably wasn't expecting his brother to be taken,' he mused, watching them idly.

When Harry was seated on Oliver's free side, Hermione wrapped her blanket around him and kissed him on his crown. "Harry, well done!" she exclaimed, "You found out how all by yourself!"

Harry mumbled something, glancing at Karkaroff, before he said more audibly, "Yeah. I did." There was something he wasn't saying. Everyone let it slide; now wasn't the time for it.

Grateful the task was over, Cedric simply sat back and watched everything around him. Eventually Ron was rescued from his brother (who knew Percy could be so protective?) and Krum failed to get Hermione's attention again, this time pointing out a beetle in her hair. Meanwhile, Professor Dumbledore was crouched at the edge of the water and Cedric swore he was speaking Mermish.

He must have zoned out, because the next thing he registered was Professor Dumbledore's amplified voice awarding points. It turned out that Fleur had been attacked by grindylows, thus explaining the marks Cedric spotted on her arms and legs; she received twenty-five points. Krum got forty points and third place, despite being the second out of the water.

In a surprise judgment, Harry managed to score second place for his "moral fiber". It was better phrasing than "absurdly stupid and incorrect conclusions which led to more stupidity," or "blatant hero complex that no one his age should have or put up with." Even Hermione and Ron seemed to agree with his unspoken thoughts, both rolling their eyes at the blushing boy.

It made Cedric's heart nearly beat out of his chest when he received first place and forty-seven points. Suddenly he was crushed between Oliver and Hermione, who nearly drowned out the roaring of the crowd with their screaming and hollering. A look cast over at Harry revealed that he too was clapping and cheering, though he had a cheeky smile.

"You two are tied for first!" Hermione shouted over the din. Again she kissed Cedric, and this time Oliver did as well. It filled him with more warmth than even the pepper-up potion had.

The third task was announced and he was taken by the urge to laugh in pure relief. It wasn't until June twenty-fourth, plenty of time away. Absolutely nothing could bring him down at this point, not even being neck and neck with a bloke he now considered a friend.

Something black caught Cedric's attention at the end of the stands. When he took a closer look, he saw that it was Professor Moody and Professor Lowe. For the most part it looked like they were simply arguing, but he noticed that the divination teacher was folded slightly into herself. Her arms were folded over her chest and she was leaned away from him, like she felt threatened.

When Professor Moody limped, off she stood stock still until he was out of sight. Her face was still hard even as she went the opposite way. What was going on?

Unexpectedly Cedric was jerked back t himself when an errant hand struck the underside of his jaw. "Ow, what was that for?" he questioned incredulously, rubbing the spot.

"Sorry," Hermione apologized, glancing at a strand of her hair. This time she was more careful as she tucked it behind her ear.

That reminded him... "Krum!" he called. When the Bulgarian faced him, expression set in a rather intimidating scowl, Cedric asked, "What did Professor Lowe say to you before the task?"

The scowl grew even deeper if it were possible. "Threatened to tie me to the bottom of the lake if I did not safe Herm-own-ninny," Krum grunted. Without another word, he left in a huff.

Cedric couldn't help his roar of laughter. Dark witch or not, anyone who would openly threaten Viktor Krum like that wasn't so bad.

* * *

-EOC-

Short, but I wanted to dedicate the chapter strictly to the second task. It had a lot of potential and I really hope I captured most of it!

The next chapter will contain one of the moments we're all waiting for- the article with a side of Sirius! Will Hermione's secrecy about the next Hogsmeade visit cause a rift in her relationship with Cedric and Oliver?

Please leave a review and let me know how I'm doing!

-Thrae


	14. Rita Skeeter's Revenge

A special thank you to my amazing reviewers: asianstotheleft, nikyta, Whisper Gypsy, Terrence Rogue, EllaLewis, Smudged, Booklover9477

Disclaimer: I own nothing under copyright, including the pieces of the original Rita Skeeter article and other quotes from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. I own only Moira Lowe, Titanica Pitman, Clodagh Bride and the Head Hunter Hex.

* * *

Chapter Fourteen: Rita Skeeter's Revenge

It was a week of heaven before Oliver came crashing down to earth again. He missed quidditch. He was worried about Hermione. He was... wondering why everyone was staring at him.

Another look around him at the lunch table showed that indeed, almost everyone was whispering and staring at him and Cedric. Even Ian looked rather strange, shifting in his seat across from them. It didn't help that for once they were sitting at the Hufflepuff table and Hermione was missing.

"Alright, what's going on?" Cedric finally asked, staring hard at his friend, "Why have eight different people already said that they feel bad for me?"

"Err, nothing?" Ian tried to offer. He was a horrible liar.

Oliver snorted. "Like hell it's nothin'," he told the Hufflepuff, "Just tell us." He had also been on the receiving end of pitying treatment and it was getting on his last nerve. More than anything else (except possibly Viktor Krum) he hated pity.

Reluctantly, Ian brought a magazine out of his bag. "You won't like this," he told Cedric ominously, handing him the publication.

"Witch Weekly?" Oliver mused, quirking an eyebrow at the witch on the front. She was holding a rather scrumptious looking sponge cake and grinning toothily up at him.

Looking back to his friend, Cedric sighed. He reached over the table and placed a hand on Ian's shoulder with a mischievous sparkle in his eyes. "It's alright Ian," he assured the other boy, "I think nothing less of you for this."

At first, Ian looked relieved. "Good," he smiled weakly, "I thought you'd be mad, I've been trying to keep it from you after all."

Both of Oliver's eyebrows raised now. Was Ian saying what he thought?

"Of all the people in the world, you should have known _I_ wouldn't make a big deal of it," Cedric said cheerfully, going back to his shepherd's pie, "I mean, who else in Hogwarts is openly dating a bloke? Well, besides this one." He gestured to Oliver with his fork.

Ian blinked, confused. "What are you talking about?" he questioned, frowning.

"Weren't you coming out of the closet?" Cedric asked almost too innocently to be real, "It took you long enough-"

"No!" Ian groaned, slamming his head down on the edge of the table, "I- you- curse- no. Just... no. Look inside and you'll see what I meant." He glared up at his friend, muttering, "Bloody tosser."

Laughing, Cedric shook his head. "Honestly, you're too easy..." he chuckled at his friend, flipping the magazine on his lap.

Oliver leaned in to look over his boyfriend's shoulder. The table of contents... what not to wear... a cookie recipe! He shook himself quickly, going back to scanning the contents of the magazine. Finally near the middle, they found what Ian had been talking about.

The center pages were a collage of pictures, not unusual for a star story. Unfortunately, the photos were too familiar for his comfort- in fact, they made his stomach turn with the content. The top left one was Harry and Hermione hugging, not an uncommon occurrence. The top left was Cedric and Hermione kissing in an alley, knee deep in snow. The bottom left was of Hermione and Krum surfacing from the lake, and the last was of himself and Hermione curled up on a sofa in the Gryffindor common room. The title was splashed across all four photographs in bright red- "TRIWIZARD CHAMPIONS- PLAYING OR BEING PLAYED?"

Looking up from the magazine, Oliver saw Cedric go pale. It was probably a bad idea to read the article that followed. They flipped the page anyway, only to come face to face with three more pictures that shouldn't have even existed.

Two were from the night of the Yule Ball; one was of them making out on the dance floor that featured Harry's scowling face through a gap in the crowd. The revelation made Oliver's neck blush hotly, it was no wonder Professor Lowe had suggested that they move. The other was from the classroom they vacated to, Hermione sitting on the desk while Oliver and Cedric both busied themselves with her neck.

The last was the most private to Oliver. He scowled at the image of the three of them on the clock tower steps. The one good thing he could see about these pictures was that his identity was indistinguishable unless you were familiar with him. 'Or my kilt,' he thought, glancing at the Yule Ball pictures again.

From the look on Cedric's face, the article was even worse. Still, Oliver read it.

_A boy like no other, perhaps - yet a boy suffering all the usual pangs of adolescence, writes Rita Skeeter. Deprived of love since the tragic demise of his parents, fourteen-year-old Harry Potter thought he had found solace in his steady girlfriend at Hogwarts, Muggle-born Hermione Granger. Little did he know that he would shortly be suffering yet more emotional blows in a life already littered with personal loss._

_Miss Granger, a plain but ambitious girl, seems to have a taste for famous wizards that Harry alone cannot satisfy. Since the beginning of the school year, she has been caught in increasingly shocking positions with three boys other than him: Cedric Diggory, the charming Hufflepuff heartthrob and second Hogwarts champion; Oliver Wood, who has already signed a contract to play for Puddlemere United upon his graduation from Hogwarts; and last but most compelling, a boy whose identity remains a mystery._

_It is an open secret around Hogwarts that Miss Granger has been playing with Harry, Cedric and Oliver since the beginning of the school year. "They keep ducking into unused classrooms and broom closets when they think no one is looking," confides Draco Malfoy, a classmate of Miss Granger, "It's quite disturbing what she's been getting away with this year."_

_In a surprise twist, she was also the thing Viktor Krum would most miss- his token for the second task of the Triwizard Tournament. In his own words, he has "never felt this way about any other girl." He is obviously smitten with the witch who has repetitively shattered his fellow champions' hearts._

_Chances are however, that Miss Granger has had magical help in securing the affections of the five unfortunate young men._

"_She's really ugly, but really smart," commented Pansy Parkinson, a pretty and vivacious classmate, "I think she's been using love potions on them. Things have been going missing from Professor Snape's cabinets and it only makes sense that it's her." For those of us out of Hogwarts, Professor Snape is the esteemed potions master and head of Slytherin house._

_Love Potions are, of course, banned at Hogwarts, and no doubt Albus Dumbledore will want to investigate these claims. In the meantime, the boys' well-wishers must hope that, next time, they bestow their hearts on a worthier candidate._

By the time he was done reading the article, Oliver was swearing up a storm in mixed Gaelic and English. Somewhere in the back of his mind he was glad that his mother was dead- if she heard what he was saying, she surely would have cleaned his mouth out with soap. As it was, even he was offended by the oaths coming from his mouth.

Beside him Cedric was shaking with rage. "What- who- how did she get these pictures?" he spluttered, cheeks the color of tomatoes, "That conniving bitch!" If he weren't so far gone in his own anger, Oliver would have been surprised. Cedric barely ever swore.

Across from them, Ian flinched. It went unnoticed by the two pissed off boys.

"We were alone!" Oliver blurted out to Cedric, returning fully to speaking English, "We were alone durin' all those times, weren't we?"

"I could have sworn we were," Cedric agreed, scowling deeply at the article, "Well, besides the ball, but how the bleeding hell did someone get a camera in there?" His hands clenched the magazine tightly, leaving little creases on the paper.

Oliver thought back to all those times and came up with a blank. "We definitely would've noticed somebody in the stairwell or in the classroom," he replied, frustrated, "How were these pictures even taken?"

One thing was obvious: they needed Hermione's big brain on the case. For the moment, as she was nowhere in sight, they shoved the magazine back at Ian. Instead they focused on poking fun at all the inaccuracies presented in the rubbish.

"How many other blokes were there in kilts?" Oliver demanded exasperatedly, "It's _obvious_ who the "mystery boy" is, even if yeh don't know me!"

"Oh, I don't know, Oliver," Cedric returned, pretending to think, "You do resemble Professor Moody a great deal." For his trouble, he got his face smashed into his shepherd's pie.

* * *

The day Hermione saw the Witch Weekly article was hell for her. The Hufflepuffs were more rude to her now than they had been even at the beginning of the year and every girl in Hogwarts was sneering at her whenever she was in sight. Well, besides the select group that actually knew her.

Even Oliver had expressed some concerns about the Viktor Krum part of the article. Luckily they were sitting in a concealed corner of the common room when he asked rather hesitantly, "Yeh don't return Krum's feelin's, do yeh?"

Hermione sat up straight to frown down at him from on his lap. "Really, Oliver," she huffed, "I thought you knew me better than that. Of course I don't, he makes me rather uncomfortable actually." It was an understatement. The way he looked at her made her skin crawl, never mind his perceived "feelings" for her. They didn't even know each other!

Visibly relieved, Oliver pulled her down for a kiss. "Sorry, sparrow," he told her apologetically, "He just has a way of makin' blokes feel... like less." His face was tight as he spoke, betraying his discomfort.

Soothingly Hermione ran her hands through his hair, reveling in the soft texture. "I can understand it," she told him quietly, "But have a little more faith in me. I'm not fickle, I'm not playing with you, and I'm not going to put up with Skeeter's bull polluting your mind."

Thankfully, that had been the end of the conversation. They spent the rest of the night that way until they headed up to bed.

The next morning, she, Harry and Ron sneaked down to the kitchens for food before heading out to Hogsmeade. They were meeting up with Sirius that day. To her it was a bad idea, the chances of his getting caught were astronomical when he was so near a wizarding community.

Still, she couldn't begrudge Harry a visit to his godfather. They hadn't seen each other in person since last year. Not to mention that Sirius was apparently very hungry- he had asked them to bring as much food as they could sneak out.

It pained her to be so secretive to her boyfriends, especially the day after that horrible Rita Skeeter article made Oliver's insecurities come to the surface. How he could possibly have them about a guy she had barely even spoken to, she wasn't sure. By now, he should know that she was happy with him and Cedric.

Hopefully he wouldn't ask questions about the disappearing act she was pulling. That was why she, Harry and Ron were leaving the castle so early, so she wouldn't have to lie to him and Cedric. Telling them about Sirius was out of the question for everyone's safety.

So it was that they met a huge, mangy black dog at the stile behind Dervish and Banges. "Hello Sirius," Harry greeted him quietly. He practically glowed with delight around his godfather.

The trek that followed made Hermione partially wish that she had stayed at the castle. The walk _to_ the mountain wasn't bad, but going _up_ it was exhausting. Even half-way up she was sticky with sweat and cursing the sun for shining so brightly on them. To say the least, the dark crag Sirius led them into was welcome.

Once inside, Sirius morphed back into his human form. It shocked Hermione to see how skinny and unkempt he was. His hair was long and matted, his robes the same torn grey ones he had been wearing last year when they met.

"Sirius!" Harry exclaimed, rushing forward to embrace the ex-convict. When his arms were around him, the teen murmured with worry, "You're so thin..."

"I've been living off rats, mostly," Sirius grimaced, "Can't steal too much food from Hogsmeade or they'll start getting suspicious..." As soon as Harry released him, he asked, "Can I have the food?"

Hermione opened the bag and handed all the food items to Sirius. "Really, what are you doing here, Sirius?" she asked, "You know you could be caught-"

Before she could finish her sentence, a wand lit up the cave from the crag. "Please tell me this isn't the Sirius I think it is," Cedric said flatly.

'Oh no,' Hermione thought, praying her ears were deceiving her, 'This isn't happening.'

"Who're you?" the ex-convict growled, an almost canine sound. He was hunched in a defensive position, shielding his eyes from the bright light.

The light seemed to dim, but then Hermione realized that it was actually Cedric moving to the side. In his place Oliver slid in to stand protectively in front of her. "Sirius Black," he stated, almost accused.

"Cedric, Oliver, you've got it all wrong," Harry told them, standing in front of Sirius like a human shield.

Never had Hermione heard Cedric's voice so cold as he murmured, "Get back, Harry." It sent shivers down her spine.

The Boy-Who-Lived firmly stood his ground. "You're not hurting him," he told the other boys defiantly.

Making his decision, Ron moved to stand beside Harry. In the light from Cedric's wand he looked paler than usual, his eyes darting from the Hufflepuff to Oliver and back. Obviously, he was nervous about a full scale duel erupting.

"Give us a chance to explain," Hermione begged quietly, "Please, there's a lot you don't understand." Her hands clutched the back of Oliver's shirt tightly.

No one moved for a few seconds that seemed to last a lifetime. "Fine," Oliver muttered, "But if he tries anythin', I'll curse first and ask questions later." He didn't move.

With a huff, Hermione ducked under his arm to stand beside him. "Cedric, lower your wand," she told him, "He's not a threat to us."

"We'll see," Cedric frowned. Never letting his stance down, he circled Oliver to stand on Hermione's other side.

Similarly, Harry and Ron moved to either side of Sirius. "Let's start with the fact that I'm innocent," the escaped convict informed them plainly, "I didn't kill Peter Pettigrew or the twelve muggles. Pettigrew isn't even dead, he blew up the street behind him and cut off his own finger before turning into his animagus form- a rat." At the irony, he smiled grimly.

"And the proof?" Cedric demanded imperiously.

"We believe him," Hermione said softly, "And so does Professor Dumbledore and last year's D.A.D.A. professor, Professor Lupin." She tried to put a hand on Cedric's arm, but he twitched away. A pang went through her chest; she had never expected this.

"We were there when Pettigrew turned back into a human last year," Harry added irritatedly.

When Sirius put a hand on his godson's shoulder, Oliver and Cedric tensed.

"Calm down," the animagus told both of them, "It's never been my intention to hurt Harry. He's my godson, I'm back in the country because things are getting fishy with the tournament. I'm trying to protect him."

"If you didn't do it, why did you break into Gryffindor tower last year?" Cedric questioned next.

It was just the question Sirius had been waiting for, apparently. He grinned, showing a set of uncared for teeth that made Hermione cringe. Prison and being on the run _really_ were bad for them. "I recognized Pettigrew in his rat form from a picture of Ron's family in the Prophet," Sirius told them, satisfied, "There was no way I couldn't have, we spent every full moon with him when we were in school... He betrayed Harry's parents to their deaths and framed me!" For a moment he looked half-mad, but calmed himself with a deep breath. "I wanted to finally commit the crime that I spent _twelve years_ in Azkaban for and get revenge, so I broke into the tower to try to take him. Or kill him there, I wasn't going to be picky. Unfortunately, Ron woke up... so I was unable to. Does that answer your questions, boys?"

While Cedric remained silent, obviously thinking, Oliver said hesitantly, "But if yeh're innocent... how were yeh convicted?"

Hermione leaned forward in interest. She had always wondered that herself.

"I didn't get a trial," Sirius said simply and bitterly.

"What?!" "You're kidding!" "Yeh can't be serious!" The teens all gaped, shocked at the miscarriage of justice.

A wave of compassion swept through Hermione and she felt like a golf ball was stuck in her throat. There were no words for how wrong that was.

At the pun, Sirius chuckled. His face became somber after a few seconds however and his eyes regained the haunted look they had when Hermione first met him. "I wasn't the only one," he said softly, "Crouch barely even gave his own son a trial. Most of them went mad in there... went silent except for when they screamed in their sleep. Only knowing that I was innocent left me with a handle on my sanity. And barely that." He grimaced as he struggled to run a hand through his tangled hair.

"I don't lie," Cedric murmured, "So I'm hard to fool. But I can't be sure you're telling the truth yet."

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Oliver beat him to it. "We won't tell anyone yeh're here," he sighed, but his jaw was set and his eyes were hard, "Not unless we find out yeh're lyin'. I get the feelin' that yeh're not, but Merlin have mercy on yeh if yeh are, because we won't. Let's go." He tugged Hermione gently toward the entrance to the cave.

"Bye, Sirius," she whispered, allowing herself to be led out. She blinked in the sunlight outside, used to the dim cave interior.

It was a further few minutes before Harry and Ron trudged out, followed by Cedric. The fourth years both looked furious, casting potent glares behind them.

Cedric didn't seem to notice them, as he was looking over his shoulder. His wand was still at the ready even. "Let's get back to the castle," he told them coolly, "We need to see Professor Dumbledore about this."

The whole way to the castle, they were silent. It was awkward, it was contemptuous, it was wrong on more levels than Hermione cared to admit. Even Oliver seemed to be distant, despite that he didn't release her hand the whole way to the gargoyle guarding Professor Dumbledore's office.

Despite the situation, her mind was strangely blank. Surely they wouldn't be angry after the truth was confirmed by Professor Dumbledore... They just _couldn't_, that would be illogical even for them...

"Ice mice," Cedric called from the back of the group. He didn't look at Hermione as he led the way up the stairs.

* * *

For three days, Cedric avoided Hermione as often as he possibly could and ignored her when he couldn't. He was angry, hurt and confused and until he could sort it all out, he didn't want to run the risk of saying something that would get him hexed.

Or even worse, possibly losing it and hexing _her_. Not only would that go against every principle he had, but he would never be able to face his parents again. Plus what seemed like half the castle would be out for his head, up to and including Professors McGonagall and Lowe.

But Merlin, she could have gotten killed! If not by Mr. Black, then if they had been followed by anyone other than himself and Oliver... Undoubtedly that Gryffindor bravery (or stupidity, as some would call it) would have her jump int the middle of the fray, possibly at a huge cost.

Not to mention that she was breaking rules put in place for her own safety, as unsavory things inhabited the mountains around the school. What else were the gates and magical protections around Hogwarts for? Something for the professors to do on their off days? Shits and giggles? There were werewolves and hags and probably even a couple of _vampires_ up there!

It was understandable that she had been wary of telling Cedric and Oliver about Mr. Black being a part of her life. He had been locked in Azkaban for twelve years for several murders and just last year had broken into the castle several times. Even he had admitted that his intent was murder! That he hadn't and was innocent of the killings he was imprisoned for were a moot point.

Seeing her, Harry and Ron so far from help and in a cave with what he had thought was a dangerous criminal... It had scared Cedric more than both tasks combined. More than the riot. More than... well, anything so far in his life.

The concept of dying to protect someone had never bothered him, he would gladly do it for someone he cared about. But in that dark cave, Cedric had been fully prepared to kill Sirius Black if he had harmed one hair on Hermione's head. The thought startled him.

It's not a reaction anyone normally has in defense of someone they simply _like_. It's something reserved for best friends, family, spouses... people they _love_. Was it possible that he was falling in love with Hermione Granger?

The thought didn't bother Cedric as much as he would have thought. While part of his mind mulled that over, the rest of it turned to Oliver. What exactly was he feeling for him?

For going on four years, he had borne a torch for the Gryffindor quidditch captain. It was something of a public secret and had been an inside joke among his friends since third year, kind of like questioning Ian's sexuality. He had seen Oliver at good points and bad points, but it always felt like something was missing.

Part of that could have been explained by the lack of Hermione. But even now that they were all together, something was still off. It was the way Oliver's facial expressions never completely lined up with what his eyes said and how the smile slipped off his face like stinksap whenever he thought he was alone. He was obviously hiding something.

For a moment, Cedric had a thought to ask. It wouldn't do to have another incident like with Mr. Black if it could be avoided. The thought was quickly shoved out of his mind. Whatever was going on, it wasn't anything new and was most definitely private and none of his business.

It was enough that he had Oliver after all these years of hoping and wishing. Anything else could be dealt with in time, including the possibility of being in love with their girlfriend.

With the closest thing to a smile he had worn since that fateful Hogsmeade visit, Cedric made a decision. It was time to make up.

* * *

Things weren't going well for Hermione. The taunts, jeers and crude comments from her classmates had just gotten worse; Harry was angry at her boyfriends; and Cedric was avoiding them all. Or at least it seemed that way; she was unable to find him anywhere.

Even Oliver had been unable to find hide nor hair of the Hufflepuff. Then again, except for the times it was necessary for them to be apart (like class) he hadn't let her out of his sight. It was somewhere between comforting and irritating.

While she understood that Oliver had been afraid (although he had done a very good job of hiding it in front of Sirius), she wasn't going anywhere! It wasn't like Hermione's second year when there had been a basilisk slithering around. The reminder of those big yellow eyes made her shiver.

Oliver's arm dragged her closer until she could feel every muscle in his torso. Somehow he had managed to convince her to sleep in the common room with him last night. Though the hearth rug wasn't the most comfortable thing she had ever slept on, she didn't regret giving in. It was nice to sleep in his arms again.

Curled up in front of Oliver, she felt secure. The way his arms wrapped around her and his hands stayed in respectable places even in sleep made Hermione feel wanted and treasured. For a girl who had always been the freak, the outsider, one of the guys, it was new.

But while it felt wonderful in front of the fire with him, she couldn't help wishing that there was a second arm over her waist. She missed Cedric. They hadn't spent this long apart since they had gotten together.

'Perhaps I should apologize?' she pondered, absently watching the shadows on the walls shorten, 'But what do I have to apologize for? I was doing what I needed to do, even if he didn't agree with it.'

Stifling a yawn, Hermione decided that it was time to get up. There was no way she would be able to go back to sleep now. Slowly she turned around in Oliver's arms to face him.

He really was handsome, she thought with a slight smile. While he could stand to gain a little weight he wasn't terrifyingly skinny like Harry was after every summer, instead looking stretched with his tallness and sinewy build. His features were chiseled rather than delicately shaped like Cedric's, making the constant blaze in his chocolate brown eyes even more spectacular. In his sleep however, he looked more peaceful than Hermione had ever seen him.

Almost by compulsion she kissed him. When he didn't show any signs of waking, she called, "Oliver... wake up..."

This time, one of his eyes cracked open. "It time already?" Oliver mumbled.

"I'm going to go get dressed," Hermione said softly, "You might want to get into an actual bed."

Still half asleep, Oliver agreed. He gave a jaw popping yawn and rolled onto his back to stretch like a massive cat. It was a strangely erotic sight with his limbs spread wide and his back arched. The blissful expression he bore only added to it.

Blushing deeply at the direction her thoughts were taking, Hermione sat up. "See you at breakfast," she murmured before she scurried up the girls' staircase.

She only paused when she was in front of her own dorm door. 'It's natural,' she told herself, slipping into the room quietly, 'He's a handsome bloke, I'm a girl with fully functional reproductive organs and we're dating. Perfectly reasonable.' Masterfully, Hermione ignored the little piece of her screaming to go back down the stairs and jump him.

Instead, she began plotting a way to get Cedric to stop avoiding her. Hopefully it wouldn't be necessary to enlist the broom closet again...

* * *

-EOC-

Honestly, I'm a little concerned about how well I did with Sirus' characterization. In the third and fourth books he's always struck me as beginning to regain the sanity he lost while in Azkaban, so I tried to get him just crazy enough. Hope it worked.

The poll closes on August 31st, so anyone who hasn't voted, lease do so! Unregistered readers, please answer this in a review: do you prefer longer chapters less often, or shorter chapters more often?

Everyone please leave me a review to let me know how I'm doing. Thank you for reading!

-Thrae


	15. Apologies

Thanks to my wonderful reviewers: Guest, asianstotheleft, Whisper Gypsy, nikyta, Guest (2), skopde, Terrence Rogue and Booklover9477.

Disclaimer: I own nothing under copyright. I also have no relation to or ownership over Harold Lowe and do not mean to portray the actual historical person in this story. I'm thinking of the James Cameron character when I write about him. I own only Moira Lowe, Titanica Pitman, Clodagh Bride and the Head Hunter Hex.

* * *

Chapter Fifteen: Apologies

"Professor Moody has been acting strange recently," Clodagh said to Hermione from across the table at breakfast, "Err, stranger than normal. At least it seems like it to me."

Looking up from her toast, Hermione frowned. "Like how?" she inquired, sneaking a glance up at the staff table.

As usual, Moody was in the seat beside Lowe drinking from his hip flask. This time however, Lowe was leaning subtly away from him and her attention was elsewhere. Obviously something had happened between them.

"He's been finding excuses to be around Aunt Moira for a few weeks now," Clodagh confided in a low voice, "It's like he's got a boner for her or something."

The mental image that accompanied that phrasing made Hermione feel a little sick. "I'll thank you for never again implying that," she groaned.

The bench moved slightly and Oliver agreed as he took the open seat, "I might need to obliviate myself." He had an expression of disgust as he glanced at the head table.

The mail began flying in, practically a storm of owls. Students looked up eagerly, anticipating mail, but most of it seemed to be headed for the Gryffindor table... An owl landed in front of Hermione. If it were carrying a newspaper she wouldn't have been surprised, but instead it bore a regular letter.

"Who's that from?" asked Oliver through a mouthful of waffles.

Frowning, Hermione untied the letter and replied, "I'm not sure..."

That owl flew off, only to be replaced by six more. They all jostled to be the first to deliver, spreading her food all over the table. Only Oliver's quick reflexes saved her pumpkin juice.

"What the bloody hell-" he started, only to cut himself off when owls began landing on his food as well.

"Oh, really!" Hermione spluttered, going red when she began to read the first letter, "It's- oh, how ridiculous-"

The letter was composed of newsprint cut from the Daily Prophet. It read, "YOU ARE A WICKED GIRL. HARRY POTTER DESERVES BETTER. GO BACK WHERE YOU CAME FROM MUGGLE."

It was obvious when Oliver looked over her shoulder, because he started swearing. "What- are they all like this?" he asked, ripping open an envelope. He read out, "Here's another one. 'Cedric Diggory can do much better than the likes of you...' Bullshite. Yeh should chuck 'em all."

"Can we?" asked Clodagh interestedly.

"Go ahead!" Hermione answered loudly over the rustle of wings. She ripped open another one and scanned the contents. More hate mail.

Their whole section of the table made a time of it, reading off portions of the letters to each other. Most of the time they made a rude comment about the letter, but there were a few jokes too. The concept of getting hate mail at all was foreign like an evil Harry or a nice Snape. Hermione somehow couldn't believe it.

A hiss of pain brought her attention to Clodagh. "Stupid bloody- fuck!" she spat, tossing the envelope away from her too late. A sickly yellow slime was covering her hands, which were swelling up with boils like she was wearing a pair of huge bumpy gloves.

Ron brought the envelope to his nose carefully. After a sniff, he declared with disgust, "Undiluted bubotuber pus!"

Immediately, Hermione felt bad. The pus had been meant for her, after all. Then the feeling morphed into anger, filling her up until she was ready to blow her lid. "I'm going to get that vapid hag if it's the last thing I do!" she snarled. Nobody hurt her friends, even tentative ones, and got away with it.

As Hermione raged and everyone else finished opening the letters, Clodagh simply stared at her hands with fascination. It was like a train wreck, she couldn't seem to look away no matter how she wanted to. "Weird," she finally decided, poking one of the blisters with the end of a quill.

Luckily, Harry was able to cover his face in time to keep from getting hit by pus. "Maybe you should see Madame Pomfrey," he suggested weakly, "That has to hurt."

"Probably," Clodagh agreed distantly, still staring at her hands, "Can somebody tell Professor Flitwick where I've gone?" Without using her arms except for balance, she managed to get to her feet.

Needing to walk off the extra energy her anger loaned her, Hermione jumped up as well. "I'll take you," she volunteered, "You need someone to carry your bag."

Once Clodagh's messenger bag was in the other witch's hands, they left the hall. Most of the students were staring and whispering, but they disregarded it. They had probably been doing so the whole time without notice.

Not even part way up the stairs, Lowe caught up to them. "Here, I'll take her," she told Hermione, wrapping an arm around her niece's shoulders, "You'd best get to class, the bell is going to ring soon."

Surely enough, it did right then. Students began to flood out of the great hall, sweeping Lowe and Clodagh out of sight. Without a reason not to, Hermione left an went to Herbology.

The day went by slowly. Only half of her brain was on lessons; the other half was on revenge. Not even Ron's plight with the leprechaun gold from the World Cup captured her full attention.

Thus it was that she was taken by surprise on her way to lunch. A hand grabbed her wrist unexpectedly in a grip like iron, halting her in her tracks. On edge from the hate mail and the sheer hatred of her female classmates, Hermione reacted instinctively. She whipped out her wand and fired the first spell she could think of.

"Either you've grown or I've shrunk," commented Cedric Diggory from his new perch inside the floor of the entrance hall. Only his head and part of his neck were exposed and chances were that his legs were hanging into the dungeons. Looking politely confused, he pointedly kept his eyes on Hermione's face.

"Oh my... I'm so sorry!" she squeaked, flushing red, "I'm so on edge and I didn't think before... I'm so, so sorry." Immediately she knelt beside her boyfriend's head, examining the floor around him. There weren't any gaps large enough to exploit, just enough to allow him to breathe unhindered.

The crowd had mainly stopped to stare by now, but they didn't pay any attention. As was fast becoming a routine thing, even Malfoy's cruel commentary was ignored.

Unexpectedly Cedric laughed. "So what _did_ you do to me?" he questioned, eyes flickering about at everything that suddenly seemed so giant.

Ashamed of her lack of control, Hermione mumbled, "Head Hunter Hex."

"That one from the list?" Cedric asked. Upon confirmation, he grinned. "I knew that one would be interesting," he declared, before starting, "So I'm, uh...?"

"Buried up to your neck in the floor? Yes," Titanica told him cheerfully, poking the back of his head, "I think I rather like you right here. You're not as annoyingly tall." Casually she plopped down beside Hermione on the floor.

"I'm sorry?" Cedric asked, and if it were possible he probably would have shrugged, "I can't help how tall I am. So how do I get out of this mess? I'm hungry."

For a long moment, Hermione stared at him. He _wasn't_ angry that he was up to his neck in the floor?Out of nowhere she began giggling. Hysterically.

Cedric and Titanica looked at her warily. "Erm, I'll go get Professor McGonagall," the Ravenclaw muttered, "And popcorn." Hurriedly she got to her feet and ran inside the great hall.

Now that they were for all intents and purposes alone, Cedric turned his full attention to his girlfriend. "Is this a bad time to apologize for being a wanker for the past three days?" he asked almost conversationally.

"Let's call it even," Hermione decided. She tamped down another fit of giggles.

When Cedric grinned toothily up at her, she got the feeling that everything was going to be alright again. Well, as soon as someone got him out of the floor it would be.

Of course, Snape chose that moment to billow out of the great hall in all his bat-like glory. "What is this?" he asked, voice deadly quiet, "Another lover's quarrel, Granger?"

The entire entrance hall went silent, as if someone had pressed a mute button. All eyes on her, Hermione wondered if the floor would magically swallow her too. "He startled me, sir," she explained sheepishly.

"Ah, our newest... celebrity," Snape accused, his lip curling in a sneer, "Thinks she's above the rules, does she? Potter really is rubbing off on you. Detention, Granger."

Hermione barely resisted the urge to gape. Instead, her face turned red enough to put Ron's hair to shame and her eyes started watering. This was humiliation at its finest.

"Sir, it's alright," Cedric assured him, "She's been getting a lot of threats lately and I didn't announce myself. It was mostly my fault." He looked desperately between Hermione and Snape, though the latter wasn't entirely successful due to the stone floor.

Again Snape opened his mouth, but Professor McGonagall bustled out of the great hall at that point. "If Mr. Diggory is willing to let the matter go, so should we," she said pointedly to Snape, "Now let's just... oh dear. This will be difficult." She looked rather troubled when she saw the situation, putting a hand to her lips.

"Not really," Titanica snickered, "All you have to do is transfigure the floor." She popped a kernel of popcorn into her mouth, as if enjoying a movie.

"That _is_ what makes this difficult, Ms. Pitman," Professor McGonagall told her seriously before turning her attention to Hermione. "What spell did you use, Ms. Granger?"

Again Hermione flushed. "It's called the Head Hunter Hex, professor," she replied mildly, "It seems to have just, err, sucked Cedric into the floor." She shifted in her kneeling position, hoping that it was nothing more harmful than that.

Professor McGonagall looked taken aback. "I've never heard of that," she declared, swooping forward to examine Cedric. Without looking at Snape, she asked, "Severus, would you please check the dungeon ceiling for his legs?"

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw him nod curtly. Without any further acknowledgment he swept down the dungeon stairs and out of sight. The moment he was gone, so was the silence and the students milling about began to gossip.

"My aunt invented that hex," Titanica put in, sitting down with her bowl of popcorn, "Not Aunt Moira, Aunt Olwen. I probably know more about it than Hermione."

Sighing, Professor McGonagall muttered something to herself. Louder, she then requested, "Ms. Granger, can you please fetch Professor Lowe for me? Ms. Pitman, tell me everything you know about this hex. This will take some work..."

Being the object of conversation, Cedric had every right to look as concerned as he did. If even Professor McGonagall called something difficult...

With a weak smile to her boyfriend, Hermione nodded. "Yes, professor," she replied. Careful to not give Cedric a flash of anything, she got to her feet and speed walked to the corridor leading to Lowe's rooms.

In record time she was telling the statue of the man with the locket, "Kaiser Wilhelm der Grosse." As soon as she heard the stairs begin to slide into place, she hopped on. Like an escalator they took her to the door at the bottom.

Voices caught Hermione's attention before she could knock. Damning her curiosity, she listened in. 'Just for a minute,' she assured herself, 'It's not like Cedric is in mortal danger...'

"Oh stop being a baby and bite me," snapped Lowe.

"No, you taste weird," Clodagh argued back.

Frowning, Hermione tilted her ear to hear better. She couldn't possibly be hearing this right...

"Just do it," Lowe sighed, "The sooner you bite, the sooner you'll be back to ogling Jordan when he's not looking, as usual."

There was a pause in the conversation. "Fine," Clodagh muttered.

Figuring that she'd heard enough, Hermione raised her hand to knock. When a strange hissing sound and a grunt of pain erupted from the other side of the door however, she reached for the handle. Without a thought to it, she threw the door open and drew her wand.

What she saw wasn't anything like she had expected. There wasn't a snake in sight, just Lowe and Clodagh, but the strangeness of the situation made up for it. Clodagh's jaws were clenched around her aunt's wrist and she was making a strange sucking sound, like...

There was no "like" needed in the situation, from the red droplets falling from Lowe's wrist.

"What are you doing?" the professor ground out, turning furious eyes on Hermione, "You're not supposed to be here!" They were filled with fire, so unlike their normal icy depths that it was frightening.

It took a huge amount of self-restraint to keep from sliding to the floor, or even better, leaving as fast as she could. Gulping down her apprehension, Hermione locked gazes with her professor. "Professor McGonagall needs you in the entrance hall," she whispered.

At the sound of Hermione's voice, the other Gryffindor opened her eyes. Unlike their normal burnished bronze sheen, they were burgundy and catlike. Still she nursed at her aunt's wrist, not letting up despite their audience.

"You've found our public secret," Lowe said blandly, drawing Hermione's attention back to herself, "I trust that you'll keep this to yourself?" She quirked an eyebrow, but her face was still taut with pain.

There was nothing else for Hermione to do but nod. A feeling descended upon her something like shell shock; she felt completely disconnected from her body. It was like someone else was stating matter-of-factly, "You're vampires."

With a grim smile, Lowe shook her head. "Thank Merlin we're not," she corrected, "We partially suffer the curse."

"That's why you can go out in sunlight," Hermione added, slowly coming back to herself, "Why you eat regular food and you're allowed to teach here. And..." She felt her knees shaking and forcefully stilled them, swallowing her disgust at what followed, "... The wards Titanica used on the broom closet. They were blood wards, weren't they? That's why they were so powerful and I'd never heard of them."

Nodding simply, Lowe said, "You've confided in me. When Minerva is done with me, I'll return the favor. For right now, could you tell her that I'm on my way?" The way she spoke so casually even with the shadow of pain on her face, it was like she was simply in the middle of a particularly annoying student conference.

"Alright," Hermione agreed. She stepped out the door, closed it behind her and walked up the staircase. As soon as she was in the classroom however, she took off in a sprint.

It wasn't in her nature to be afraid of such things; the time turner incident with Professor Lupin's werewolf form last year said enough. But compared to vampires, even partial ones, werewolves were cuddly puppies. Though they appeared human on the outside, vampires were infamous for being cold; cruel; enjoying the suffering of others; and most of all, for their sheer soullessness. The limited emotional range and unscrupulous morals Lowe had were on the nicer side of the scale, really.

If they ever found out, the parents would probably try to burn the school in protest. Professor Dumbledore really was barmy.

* * *

It took nearly four hours to get Cedric out of the floor once the teachers decided on a course of action. That alone had taken three hours. Not to mention that he was still encased in a block of stone, just moved onto a hospital bed.

The whole time Oliver and Hermione had stayed as close by as possible, not a very difficult thing to do since Professors Flitwick and McGonagall had both been busy trying to get Cedric out of the floor. If it weren't such a sad situation, Oliver would have found it funny. It was especially strange during dinner, which Hermione had to feed their trapped boyfriend.

The whole time however, she had been off. When she'd first come rushing out from Lowe's office she had been pale as Sir Nicholas. As the day went on she had only gotten more distracted until Cedric finally told her, "Alright Hermione, spill it."

"Spill what?" Hermione asked in a higher voice than usual, "I don't have anything to spill." Even Ian could lie better than her.

"It's easy to tell somethin' is botherin' yeh, sparrow," Oliver said gently, "Yeh're actin' strange even for yeh."

Both boys stared at her expectantly. When she only bit her lip and fidgeted, Oliver sighed, "Alright, _why_ can't yeh spill it?" He knew she hated lying or hiding things, so whatever it was had to be important.

"It's not my secret to tell," Hermione replied instantly.

Cedric and Oliver shared a look. "Whatever it is, it'll be fine," the Hufflepuff tried to assure her, "Well, unless you're talking about whatever secret relationship Professor Moody has with Professor Lowe. That doesn't seem to be going so well."

The distraction tactic partially worked. Though she was still pale, Hermione smiled a little.

"That's sayin' the least," Oliver snorted, "Yeh should've heard them after dinner. 'I wouldn't go near yeh with a ten foot broomstick.' 'Yeh won't have a choice soon, Moira. Yeh'll be mine soon enough.' It was a bit creepy."

At his awful impressions of their professors, Cedric snickered. Hermione just frowned again. "Are you sure that's what he said?" she questioned.

"Not like I could forget that conversation," Oliver told her, settling an arm over her shoulders, "Even in context it was eerie." He wasn't about to mention that Professor Lowe was trapped against a wall through the whole piece he had witnessed.

"Well he's as crazy as they come," Cedric reasoned, "It was probably an intimidation tactic."

"If it was, it was workin'," Oliver replied easily, "Yeh should've heard it." Sensing that this conversation was about to peter off, he whispered to Hermione just loud enough for Cedric to hear, "Yeh heard anythin' from Snuffles lately?"

As much as he could with half his body being encased in stone, Cedric leaned over to listen. He and Oliver had written out an apology note for Sirius after they had learned the truth three days ago and Harry had sent it with a care package. Of course, Hermione had heard about this and Sirius' new nickname only through the reply.

"He said he accepts your apologies," Hermione told them with a small smile, "He doesn't blame you. Actually, he says he's grateful that Harry and I have such protective friends. Otherwise it's just advice about what Harry should work on for the tournament." Fondly, she reached forward and stroked a lock of hair from Cedric's face.

He let out a sigh of relief. "Good," he breathed, before turning his bright grey eyes on Oliver, "I'm sorry for putting you in the middle of this. It was childish of me."

Oliver's shoulders tensed slightly. "I forgive yeh," he told his boyfriend seriously, "But now yeh know what not to do, right?"

"Right," Cedric agreed firmly.

Still bent forward between them, Hermione's expression lightened. Her eyes were still troubled, but the lines on her forehead had smoothed out. "Merlin, you two," she sighed, leaning back.

The days of confusion and frustration suddenly seemed like they were a very long time ago. Aside of Cedric being on a hospital bed bound in a coat of stone, everything seemed right again. Before long, something would come in to ruin it...

That something happened to be Professor Lowe, Clodagh and Titanica. They were walking in a tight group, Clodagh more nervous than she had any right to be. Behind them and appearing as confused as Oliver felt were Harry and Ron.

Beside him, Hermione tensed. "Hello professor," she chimed politely, "Titanica, Clodagh. How are the hands?"

"Much better," Clodagh grinned, holding them up as evidence. They were wrapped in bandages and still swollen to about twice their normal size.

With a wave of her wand, Professor Lowe conjured five comfortable looking black armchairs. "I think it's best to have this discussion where all of you can judge for yourself," she said as mildly as Oliver had ever heard her, "Although I'd prefer that this didn't reach any other ears."

With confusion Oliver looked to his girlfriend. Despite the stiffness of her posture, her face didn't betray anything. "Are yeh sure you want to say whatever it is here?" he asked as the newcomers settled into their chosen seats. The ward was deserted, but in Hogwarts the walls were notorious for having ears.

"Better here and now than when all of you are able to curse me effectively," Professor Lowe told them baldly, adjusting in her chair slightly, "Not that you'd succeed, but it's the principle of the thing."

Everyone that wasn't in the know- meaning everything with a Y chromosome- exchanged looks. "Well go on," Cedric encouraged them, "I'm sure you're overreacting."

Professor Lowe smiled grimly. Instead of replying with words however, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened her eyes, they were the color of blood with cat's eye pupils.

The breath caught in Oliver's throat. "What the bleedin' hell?" he whispered, though he had a sickening feeling he already knew.

When Titanica opened one side of her mouth to curl her tongue around an elongated canine, he knew he was right. The nails that had cut three inches through Clodagh's bandages only compounded the point. Suddenly everything made sense.

"That's how you aren't aging," Cedric stated, eyes wide as he stared at the professor, "You're part vampire."

A crash echoed through the room; Ron hadn't taken the news well. "What?" he croaked, white under his freckles, "You can't be serious. My sister has been sharing a dorm with a... a blood sucker all these years without knowing it?" He made no indication that he was going to get off the floor, especially when Clodagh smirked at him.

Even Oliver had to admit that the burgundy eyes the younger two boasted were creepy. "How did yeh keep it hushed up so long?" he asked, more worried about how they would continue to do so. He figured that if they hadn't harmed anyone yet, they were unlikely to later.

Unfortunately, some didn't see it that way. "No way," Ron protested, "Dumbledore must not know about this. It's illegal to hire a vampire here!"

"Oh get off the floor," Hermione snapped unexpectedly, "It's not like she's a full vampire. It's perfectly within the rules, section 19 of the student admission code: If the child has caused no harm connected with their affliction, nor has any member of their nuclear family, and can be non-lethally controlled when dangerous, admission is granted. This applies to part-giants, -vampires, -goblins, and of course, werewolves. It's the same basic requirements for staff hiring." She leaned back into Oliver, arms crossed over her chest defiantly.

Surprised, Professor Lowe actually gave Hermione a full smile. With her extended teeth and blood red eyes gleaming, it was rather menacing. "That code was enacted in 1944," she added gently, "For my mother. She came to Hogwarts as a late entry that year. Technically it encompassed my father as well, so when it was discovered that he had vampire ancestry the governors were unable to expel him.

"As for how we hide it, when you're only partial like we are it's fairly easy," she answered Oliver's question belatedly, "Don't go out in the sun much, avoid getting injured since we heal up so much more slowly than you, and copy our peers. Even part-vampires routinely go beyond regular human limitations on strength, speed, endurance and, in my case, magical power, so that last one can be difficult sometimes."

"Psst, that's how she made it as a beater," Titanica stage whispered.

The professor rolled her eyes and smacked her niece on the back of her head. "Not completely," she sniffed, "I like to think it was sheer skill."

"So, what do you want to do?" asked Clodagh quietly, "Do you want to not use the rooms anymore?" It was obvious that she was really wondering, "Do you not want to be friends anymore?" Curled up in her armchair, she looked small and vulnerable despite her fangs.

It took less than a minute for Oliver to decide. He went with his gut, as was his habit. "Yeh haven't hurt anybody I know of," he told the third year kindly, "Why should I hold this against yeh?"

"I'd like to keep using the room," Cedric agreed.

In short order, only Ron was left hedging. "If I get drained, I'm blaming you," he told Harry seriously.

Taking that as a sign of acceptance, Clodagh grinned brilliantly. "Anybody want cookies?" she offered, bringing a napkin of them out from her robes, "They're still fresh from dinner."

"Me," Cedric said, eyes lighting up at the sight of the chocolate chip treats, "Please."

As Clodagh passed around the cookies, her relatives stood. "We'd better go," Lowe smiled slightly, "Poppy will have our heads if we're bothering her patient." Her features slowly returned to normal, shortly followed by Titanica's and Clodagh's. It was rather a relief to see them back to normal.

Before they could go anywhere, Hermione questioned, "How did you get the vampire on your mother's side?" While she was frowning at Professor Lowe, it was more of a thoughtful expression than an upset one.

The professor replied with a measure of amusement, "Her father was attacked by a vampire aboard a ship he was serving on but was scared away before they sucked him dry. My mum was born about a year later."

Obviously Hermione knew where this was going, which rather amazed Oliver. "Don't tell me..." she trailed off, having figured it out. Her eyes were almost bugging out as she stared.

"That's right," Titanica smirked, "Harold Godfrey Lowe. Born in 1882, bitten in 1929, still living in Wales fit as a fiddle. Barely has grey hair, even."

"Oh my... And your grandfather?" Hermione asked faintly. On the other side of Cedric's bed, Harry's eyes were wide. When he saw that Ron looked just as confused as he was, he didn't feel quite so left out. It must have been a muggle thing.

This time, Professor Lowe's smile was tight. "We don't talk about him," she said shortly. To Cedric she said, "You'll probably be out of that by tomorrow afternoon. I'll see you all later. Come on, Clodagh."

Pouting, the third year reluctantly followed. "Bye!" she called.

Everyone who could, waved. Cedric just returned, "Bye!" through a piece of cookie. For a moment he seemed to choke, but with an eye watering swallow cleared his throat.

"So what was that about the grandfather?" asked Oliver casually once the doors had closed behind them, "Yeh make it sound like he's a big deal."

Taken aback, Harry answered, "Well, he is." He seemed tongue tied with the lack of knowledge the wizarding world had on what to him was so famous.

On the other hand, Hermione launched into lecture mode. "He was the fifth officer on the Titanic, the most famous ship in the world," she told them, a dreamy quality to her voice that Oliver rather disliked since she was talking about a man besides himself or Cedric, "It sailed on April 10 and sank on April 15, 1912, killing over 1,500 people. Not enough lifeboats. So if Lowe is related to _that_ Lowe, then that must mean... Oh." She stopped short, positively star struck.

While Harry smacked himself on the forehead, Oliver and Cedric exchanged wary looks. It seemed that Hermione was not only very intelligent, but a maritime history buff. Great.

* * *

-EOC-

Yes, I know, very heavy on the OC's. I wanted to get through it so that certain things were better understood, like Lowe's seeming lack of emotional range and her physical looks. Not to mention that a few future things will make more sense when they come about than if I hadn't explained.

Other than the obvious over-use of OC's, how was it? Leave me a review!

-Thrae


	16. What He Required

Thank you to my reviewers who are so magical, I think they might be unicorns: asianstotheleft, Whisper Gypsy, Terrence Rogue, nikyta, Guest, Booklover9477

God, this chapter has been so difficult for me to write. I have no idea why, but either way I'm proud to say that I've overcome it! It's shorter than usual, but still here. Thank everyone for your generous support, especially the reviewers. Your encouragement has been essential to producing this chapter!

Disclaimer: I own nothing under copyright and whenever I speak of Harold Lowe, I mean the James Cameron character and not the real person. I own only Moira Lowe, Titanica Pitman, Clodagh Bride and the Head Hunter Hex.

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Chapter Sixteen: What He Required

Cedric was freed from the stone block with a large amount of hassle the day after Hermione had hexed him. Since it had been a part of Hogwarts, meaning that it was imbued with huge amounts of insanely powerful magic, it was a very delicate situation. In the end it had taken Professor Dumbledore's undivided attention to get him the whole way free.

While it had seemed like that night and day were forever, it was the opposite feeling for the next few months. There was never enough _time._

If he wasn't in class, eating or sleeping, Cedric was in the dueling room practicing spells. After the incident in the entrance hall he had demanded to be taught the Head Hunter Hex, thinking in particular of using it on Krum. Once he had the incantation down, it was absurdly easy when he tried it on one of the skrewts outside.

With Hermione, Oliver and Titanica's help, he and Harry were getting startlingly good at cursing and defending. There were even a few spells that Harry was beginning to get the grasp of doing silently, despite his age. The boy was talented.

Not even the business of the practice schedule was able to distract him from Hermione's downward spiral, however. Her eyes had large, dark bags under them again and Harry had shared how she had even fallen asleep in History of Magic. A few days later, he heard rumors about Hermione screaming in her sleep.

There was only one plausible explanation that Cedric could think of, and he didn't like it. Truth be told, he had tried to put Hermione's words about her repetitive nightmare out of his mind since he first became a champion. It couldn't possibly be true.

But looking at how she was running herself into the ground helping himself and Harry, unease settled into his stomach once more. She was infamous for having (very rudely) walked out of Professor Trelawney's class the year before, calling divination complete hogwash and dropping it like a hot potato. If even she was taking this dream seriously, there must have been proof.

Then there was the article from the amazingly horrible Rita Skeeter that was published in Witch Weekly five days after. Though it wasn't a centerfold, it was still obviously placed and titled, "VAMPIRES AT HOGWARTS".

It revealed yet more privately confided information, though at least the black and white photos didn't show their eyes going red. The fangs and nails receding back into their bodies however, were more than enough proof. The article itself was, like the one about Hermione, a cleverly woven set of lies based on misinformation and conjecture.

Really, there was no wonder that the whole week and more owls carried threats and hate mail to Professor Lowe, Clodagh and Titanica in addition to the stock Hermione was already receiving. The smell of paper (and occasionally nastier things) burning became commonplace during breakfast, as did the screeching of howlers. By Friday, no one even looked up when a red envelope exploded into shouting.

Almost as troubling, Professor Moody seemed to grow even more zealous about catching Professor Lowe in whatever he thought was going on. Dare Cedric think it, the retired auror seemed... obsessed.

In early June, Cedric's suspicions were validated. On his way from breakfast to Charms he used a shortcut through the usually unused third floor corridor, only to hide behind a torch pillar. Professor Moody's distinctive growling voice was echoing down the hall to him, accompanied by sharp staccato breathing, and he could see silhouettes in the shadows cast by the torches.

"You've been running from me, Moira," Professor Moody stated, leg clunking as he limped closer to Professor Lowe.

Her voice was steady, if not a bit shrill, when she replied, "Of course I've been running from you! You've been acting strangely since at least February!" She was backed up against the wall, Cedric saw in the shadows.

There was a brief pause in which Professor Moody simply clunked closer. His shadow showed only a few inches of space between himself and his colleague.

Feeling his knees start to ache, Cedric shifted silently. Normally he would think of this as none of his business and continue on his way, but this was concerning. It almost sounded as if Professor Lowe was... frightened?

"Leave, Alastor," she commanded, though her voice had a definite tremble to it, "Now. Or I'll file sexual harassment charges on you."

Professor Lowe's shadow squirmed back as far as it could, while Professor Moody's leaned forward. There was an inhaling sound, and Cedric felt himself freeze up. Was he really...?

"Amber. You smell like amber," Professor Moody growled almost too low for Cedric to hear, "Nothing about you ever changes, does it... I'll go. But you're not off the hook, Moira." His peg leg clunked against the stone flooring unevenly, thankfully going the opposite way.

Cedric slowly rose back to his normal height. Against the wall, Professor Lowe's shadow had disappeared but he still heard her breathing down the corridor. Moving on instinct, he made his way around the corner to see what he could do.

She had slid down the wall and now sat on the floor, knees tight against her chest. "That's not Alastor Moody," she whispered once she caught sight of Cedric, "It's not him. I don't know who it is, but that's not him!" Almost hysterically she shrieked her last sentence, pounding her fist into the floor as she did so.

Warily, Cedric hung back. "Is there... anything I can do?" he asked awkwardly. Upset women, he could handle. Upset part-vampires who may or may not be correct in identifying an imposter, he had no idea.

The bell rang, making Cedric groan. Somehow, he had forgotten that he was on the way to class.

"Just go to class, Cedric," Professor Lowe told him, pushing herself up with her fists, "I need to speak to Dumbledore." For a moment she winced in pain, then held up her mangled right hand- the one she had used to punch the floor. She had torn up her knuckles to the point where they resembled a pulled pork sandwich, blood pouring out and dripping steadily onto the floor.

It was like a train wreck. Cedric felt rather ill as he directly watched the broken bones slide and splinter against each other but was unable to pull his sight away. "Err, right," he said faintly, "Well, uh, you might want to see Madame Pomfrey..."

The look he received was more stern than it usually would have been. "Thank you for the advice, Cedric," Professor Lowe murmured, "Get to class, tell him I held you up asking about the tarot cards you borrowed last week." If her expression were any more tight, he thought it might snap.

"But I didn't-" Cedric cut himself off, understanding the message. This was between them until further notice. It stayed that way.

Two weeks passed and suddenly it was the eve of the third task. The excitement was palpable; the whole castle buzzed with it. Even the Durmstrang students were more chatty and in higher spirits, though Krum only looked surlier.

Meanwhile, Cedric felt more confident than he had any right to be. Despite what anyone may have thought based on his house, he wasn't an idiot. He knew that Hermione's repetitive nightmare was about him and that, if it was an honest to Merlin prophecy, he would somehow die in a graveyard the next day.

But it was hard to think that when he felt so well prepared. He had six years of schooling, nearly six months of difficult magical training with Oliver, Hermione and Harry, and more curses under his belt than he could shake a wand at. If death was coming for Cedric the next day, it would have to fight tooth and nail to take him.

That being said, he felt more adventurous than he probably ever had in his life. If he only had around twenty-four hours to live, there were things he wanted to do. One of those was where he was leading Oliver and Hermione right then at nearly ten at night.

"Where are we going?" whispered Hermione, glancing over her shoulder nervously, "It's almost curfew."

"Trust me," Cedric smiled over his shoulder at her, "I've got it all worked out." At the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, he had them stand in front of it while he paced the corridor three times. 'I need a comfortable sitting room and bedroom and a huge bath,' he thought, envisioning the room as he walked quickly, 'One where no one will find us or hear us.'

When Hermione gasped, he knew he had done it right. A little cautious about revealing the results yet, he opened the door a crack. It was just as he had imagined.

"Is this...?" Hermione trailed off, her footsteps echoing as she approached.

"Welcome," Cedric said in a low voice, opening the door wider, "To the Room of Requirement."

While Hermione was dazzled as she wandered inside, it was Oliver's expression that made him grin. He looked absolutely star struck as he entered, turning his head every which way to try to see everything at once. They didn't even look back when Cedric entered the room and closed the door behind him.

The room had outdone itself in his opinion, every detail perfect. To the left side of the room was a large marble fireplace surrounded by plush blue and gold antique furniture, flames flickering brightly in the grate. Bookcases lined one corner, full to bursting, while the other held a false window that appeared to look over the Forbidden Forest. On the right side a large ebony bed with cloth of gold sheets and velvet hangings stood against the wall. Between the two, a door led to what he knew would be a washroom comparable to the prefect's bathroom.

"The house elves told me a few days ago," Cedric said quietly, looking around with pride in his imagination, "They sometimes use it for extra cleaning supplies and the like."

"Brilliant," Oliver whispered, looking over his shoulder excitedly from the false window, "Bloody brilliant, Cedric. If only I'd discovered this a few years earlier."

It was hard not to be offended by the connotations.

"Huh?" Hermione asked, obviously on the same wavelength for the moment. Her eyebrow was raised and she looked entirely unamused.

Startled by the hostility he must have sensed from his partners, Oliver spun around and blinked at them owlishly. "I was talkin' about askin' for a model quidditch pitch," he told them bluntly, "I've no idea what yeh were thinkin' about."

Exasperatedly, Cedric and Hermione traded glances. Sometimes, he wondered if Oliver had a sex drive at all or if it was all channeled into quidditch. "Nothing," he said quickly, "How about a look at the bathroom?"

Though Oliver gave him a look, the topic change slid. The bathroom was almost exactly like the prefect's, except not quite as overly grand. The etchings on the stone had the look of vines, spiraling up and down the center column of the bath and over the walls of the shower, while the chandelier had the look of a huge sparrow taken off in flight.

"You see how big that tub is?" Cedric asked pointedly.

Oliver gave him a wary look. "It's hard not to," he retorted.

With a muttered spell, Cedric transfigured their trousers into swim trunks. "That's where you're going to learn how to swim," he said confidently.

The words that came out of Oliver's mouth were the last Cedric had ever thought he'd hear: "Bitch, please." So in response, he used his heavier build to his advantage and tackled the unsuspecting Gryffindor into the pool/bath.

It was only seconds before they were up for air, Oliver blowing water out of his nose. "Were yeh tryin' to kill me?" the Scotsman spluttered.

"It's only five and a half feet deep, drama queen," Cedric laughed, splashing his boyfriend playfully, "You've been around Titanica way too much."

It soon turned into an all out splash war, complete with shouted threats and a chase around the center column. It was a slow chase, but before they knew it Oliver was swimming after him shouting in Gaelic. Technically he was doggy paddling, and rather pathetically at that, but it was still a step in the right direction.

"Great!" Cedric cheered, pausing in swimming for his life, "You're getting the hang of it!" He had completely forgotten about his reasons for being there, aside of teaching Oliver how to swim.

For a moment Oliver looked confused. Then he seemed to realize he wasn't standing and began to sink like a stone.

Eyes wide, Cedric dove over and pulled his boyfriend back up. "Just do like you were before," he encouraged, holding him at arm's length for a moment, "You can do this."

Once he was released, Oliver took a deep breath and his lips tightened together. At first Cedric thought he would have to cajole him into it, but then the fire flared up in his eyes. Without preamble the Gryffindor boy splashed forward, ungainly but keeping himself afloat.

"Now just stretch out your arms more," Cedric instructed, keeping up easily, "And keep breathing."

Slowly, the fear disappeared and Oliver's body relaxed. Now taking long pulls forward with his arms as he kicked, he seemed completely at ease in the water.

"You're a natural," Hermione unexpectedly commented from the side of the tub nearer the door. There was no book in her hands, strangely, and she watched her boys with a warm smile. Her legs kicked back and forth in the water where she sat down on the edge, her clothing transfigured into a one piece red-on-black spotted swimsuit.

There was a streak of mischief in Oliver's eyes as he swam toward her. "It just took getting' pushed into a giant bath to learn," he commented, grinning at Cedric.

It made his stomach drop. "Well you did call me a bitch," he pointed out, trying to draw Hermione's attention. Cedric had a feeling he knew what their boyfriend was going to do, and he agreed whole-heartedly.

Sure, it would probably get them hexed later, but he had not even a day left. It would be worth it.

The ploy backfired. "You've been around Titanica far too much," Hermione reprimanded, unknowingly echoing Cedric as she did, "I'm not sure I want to know what else has rubbed off on you." She seemed oblivious to Oliver's plan, however, as he hauled himself half-way up the side of the tub.

"Why don't yeh come in and find out?" Oliver winked cheekily.

Hermione blinked in confusion, then frowned. "Who are you and what have you done with Oliver?" she demanded, sending her other boyfriend a sidelong glance.

Similarly surprised, Cedric shrugged, though he had a subtle smirk. It seemed that he had accidentally instilled some confidence in Oliver.

"Come on, sparrow," Oliver chuckled, laying his chin on her bare thigh, "It _is_ me."

Rather than interrogate him, Hermione ran a hand through his wet hair. "Prove it," she challenged simply.

"Get in and I will," Oliver returned, pulling back just enough to allow her to slip into the bath.

It took more effort than Cedric cared to admit, but he didn't laugh. Oliver was so _transparent_, anyone who had ever had a dirty thought could tell what he was trying to do.

Obviously, Hermione was in that majority. "No," she told him almost mockingly, "You come up here."

With a rather large splash for such a small girl, she was pulled into the tub.

Finally allowing himself to laugh, Cedric covered his face. This was just getting better and better.

When Hermione came back up, still in Oliver's arms, she spat out a mouthful of water and coughed, "Okay, I believe you." She looked more enticing than ever, her curls damp and eyes set in a glare over her shoulder at an unrepentant Oliver. Driblets of water rand down from her hair to the edge of her swimsuit, a few running between her breasts on a path he would love to trace with his tongue...

There was a struggle in his mind for a moment, but no more than that. It was impossible for Cedric to _not_ touch her.

"Hermione..." he breathed, coming close enough to faintly feel her body in front of his. He lifted his hands to her shoulders and ran them slowly down her arms, rubbing his thumbs against the backs of her wrists before trailing his way back up.

Wide eyed, Hermione tilted her head to the side. "What are you doing?" she whispered.

"What does it feel like I'm doing?" asked Cedric huskily. One hand moved up to her neck and Oliver's chest, while the other lightly skimmed between her breasts to her stomach. Even with the warm water, her body heat was tangible- everywhere he touched burned.

"Seducing me," Hermione breathed. Her eyes were darkened with lust, but she was still so innocent...

With a lopsided grin that he knew was more than a little dangerous, Cedric leaned in. Even with the scented water he could still smell cinnamon and roses. Lazily, his eyes wandered up Oliver's toned chest to meet similarly hungry eyes. "Then I'm seducing you," he whispered just loudly enough for Oliver to hear.

This time Oliver initiated things, leaning forward over Hermione's shoulder to capture his lips. Distantly Cedric could hear her gasp, feel her hair against his chest as she moved her head to watch.

There was something different than before between them. Maybe they all understood that there was just no _time, _or perhaps it was just the distinct lack of clothing, but lightning flashed through Cedric's flesh wherever he was touched. Everywhere.

His previous thought that he'd have to guide them through everything couldn't have been more wrong, as suddenly he was out of the water and being pushed back onto the bed. Oh, they were innocent, Hermione more than Oliver, but somehow they knew exactly what to do to drive him mad. A tongue flicking his nipple, a mouth eagerly exploring his shaft, fingernails digging into his thighs as his hips were held down...

They physically joined that night, in every way possible. Physically, mentally, emotionally and magically, they became one. One triad.

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It was almost one in the morning by the time Charys Diggory settled down enough to contemplate sleep. Normally she would have gone to bed around eleven, but the third task was the next day! Her son would be competing for the Triwizard Cup that day!

The parents of the champions (the Weasleys in place of poor Harry's relatives, thank Merlin) were invited to spend the day at Hogwarts. Before the tournament was canceled it was to allow the champions to pass on last requests, but with it being so much safer this year, the purpose now was moral support.

Not that Cedric would necessarily need it with Hermione and Oliver around. She looked at her photo of the three fondly where it sat on the mantle. They hadn't known she had even been in the room, never mind brought a camera in there, but Mrs. Diggory just couldn't resist. The three were adorable together!

That was another part of why she was so jazzed to be invited to Hogwarts the next day: she wanted to meet Oliver and Hermione as their boyfriend's mother. And future mother-in-law, but she wouldn't spring that on them yet. That would jut be cruel.

Of course, she would be seen as just being crazy and overly hopeful, because after all, how many triads are formed nowadays? As close to zero as one could possibly get. Still, Mrs. Diggory had her instincts and with what she had seen, it would happen. It was only a matter of time.

Out of habit, she glanced at the clock. It was a special clock that most wizarding households owned that showed the state of the family members rather than the time. For most of the year Cedric's hand had simply pointed to "School", though it had swung to "Mortal Peril" during the first task. Currently it was at "School", along with...

Excitedly, Mrs. Diggory let out a shriek. "Amos! Amos, come look! The clock!" she shouted. Not caring about how this would look, she allowed herself to do a happy jig.

When her husband appeared in the family room in his pajamas, he looked all too amused. "What, do we have another one on the way?" he asked, knowing otherwise.

"No, no, look!" Mrs. Diggory pointed at the clock, too excited to be bothered by Mr. Diggory's lame joke, "Right by-"

"Merlin's beard," he whispered, having found what his wife was so excited about. Still staring at the clock, he managed to squeeze Mrs. Diggory back when she launched herself at him.

Looking up at Mr. Diggory, she frowned. "Aren't you excited?" she demanded.

"Well yes," he replied quickly, tearing his eyes from the clock, "But I thought we'd have more time before we got in-laws. It's just a shock, dear." He smiled, trying to appease his wife before she turned her Gryffindor temper on him.

"I told you so," Mrs. Diggory teased, feeling very smug, "Now how about..." She trailed off, swearing she heard a door open. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something move.

By the time she faced it, a green light was all she saw. In her arms, Mr. Diggory slumped over dead.

Before she could even scream, the killing curse had already hit Mrs. Charys Diggory.

The intruder closed the front door behind him and shuffled further inside. Other then the owners' corpses in the sitting room, it was a rather nice little cottage, he thought. It reminded him a little of James and Lily's...

Shaking thoughts of his old friends, Peter Pettigrew scurried further inside and began to search. His mission was time sensitive, he had to get back to his master within half an hour...

It took much less time than that to find what he was looking for. In fact, the family clock said everything. Two hands had disappeared even as he stood in the foyer, but there were still three, all pointed to "School".

Peter's nose wrinkled in distaste when he saw the hand titled, "Hermione Granger". Not only was she a mudblood, but he had his own memories of her and her cat... That night in the Shrieking Shack had nearly been the end of him.

The second hand, titled "Cedric Diggory", was expected. This was his parents' house, after all. Even without that, he was rather famous now thanks to the Triwizard Tournament.

The last hand, he was unfamiliar with beyond the Witch Weekly article Peter had heard about. "Oliver Wood", the third side of the triad.

Now just to find proof to take back... His master demanded evidence. The clock would most likely never leave the house unless a family member removed it, so he scrounged around for something else.

On the fireplace mantle, he hit thee jackpot. It was the only picture of the three that he had managed to find, and even more than that... Sometimes cameras showed things that couldn't be seen with the naked eye. This camera did just that, exposing the glowing outlines of what were now full soul bonds.

After duplicating the photo, Peter left the house. Surely his master would be pleased with what he had accomplished tonight.

Briefly, he pitied the triad. Life under his master was not easy, and if they should choose to be stubborn as Lily and James had, the same would happen to them. Then he remembered the far too intelligent witch and his sentiments changed.

One way or another, things would change. Peter could only hope that the change was in favor of his master.

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-EOC-

The poor Diggorys! As much as I hate to say this however, it was planned from the beginning. One of the few things that was, actually. I've mainly pantsed my way through this so far.

Only a few chapters left! I'm so excited but so sad... Next chapter: the third task.

Review and let me know how I'm doing!

-Thrae


	17. The Third Task

Many thanks to the reviewers: asianstotheleft, Whisper Gypsy, nikyta, Guest and Terrence Rogue.

Guest: I've never seen Cedric's dad as very necessary. Actually, he kind of annoyed me... But Pettigrew getting that photo was necessary, and it wouldn't be in character for him to just knock them out or leave one alive. He's too much of a coward to risk a real fight.

Whisper Gypsy: Your review was honest, but you'll never believe how hard it made me laugh. I love your phrasing! I admit that I kicked myself for being so heartless, but it was necessary. Thanks for the ideas, I'll consider them!

Disclaimer: I own nothing under copyright, including the quotes I borrowed from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. Furthermore when I speak of Harold Lowe, I speak of the James Cameron character and not the real person. I own only Moira Lowe, Titanica Pitman, Clodagh Bride and the Head Hunter Hex.

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Chapter 17: The Third Task

On the morning of the third task, Cedric woke slowly. He was surrounded by heat, skin and silky sheets and could honestly stay like that for the rest of the day if he was given the chance.

Then he remembered why he couldn't and automatically tensed. 'The day I'll probably die,' he thought morbidly, forcing his body to relax again. It had no effect on his rapidly pounding heart.

It was easy enough to figure out how to not get killed, if Hermione's dream was fully accurate. Cedric just had to avoid touching the cup. But what if Fleur or Krum took his place then? It would tear him apart if someone else died because he didn't.

Ruthlessly, Cedric squashed those thoughts. This wasn't the time for them, he could deal with them in the maze. For now, he had his lovers to pay attention to.

Lovers. He liked the feel of that word.

Pressed into his back tightly, Oliver had splayed his long limbs over both Cedric and Hermione. His warm breaths tickled the Hufflepuff's shoulder blade. In front of them, wrapped in both their arms, Hermione slept with her lips parted and her hands curled in front of her face. Her legs were tangled with theirs, a thigh resting temptingly on Cedric's hip. They were both still asleep and unworried.

This was what they had been missing this whole time. Why sleep hadn't seemed so restful, why up until now he had felt so incomplete... Cedric never wanted to be without this again.

Idly, he reached over to stroke Hermione's hair. A flash of color on his wrist caught his attention, but Cedric didn't pay it much mind. It was probably just a bruise, he had a lot of those (around three quarters of which were love bites) from last night.

As always, the strands tangled around his fingers. Despite that, they were soft and comforting, radiating the smells of cinnamon and roses that Cedric had learned to associate with her. Subtly mixed in were hints of his own aftershave and the fresh scent of grass that Oliver seemed to carry around. He found himself hoping that those scents would linger.

Again the color caught his eye, but this time he noticed that it wound around his wrist like a bracelet. A furrow formed between his eyebrows. How would a bruise circle his wrist? He had resisted bringing out the rope and they hadn't been _that_ rough no matter how he'd asked...

Slowly, Cedric untangled his fingers from Hermione's hair and brought his wrist closer to examine it. The markings weren't a bruise at all, he saw, dread pooling in his stomach. It was a band like a tattoo, a braided design of blue, red and gold, but it was impossible now to ignore the magic he could feel thrumming through it. And it wasn't just his magic he sensed.

'Shit,' Cedric thought, overwhelmed by the mere thought of what this meant, 'Well... shit. How will we explain this to Mum and Dad? Hell, how will we all explain this to Mr. Wood or Hermione's parents?!'

"Calm down, love," Oliver mumbled, curling even closer, "What's wrong?" In an attempt to soothe the distress, he ran a hand over the part of Cedric's arm he could reach.

Not bothering to be careful of waking Hermione, he tuned onto his back. "This is what's wrong," he stated bluntly, holding up his left wrist.

As expected, Oliver spluttered, "But- but- we didn't- how the...?" He fell silent upon seeing the mark circling his right bicep.

"What are you two on about?" Hermione grumbled, "I was having a very nice dream until you woke me." She huffed and sat up to glare at them more effectively, showing a long braided mark circling her hips.

The glare didn't have nearly as much of an effect as it normally would have, partially because she was still naked. "We have a problem," Cedric began delicately, "Err, our magic seems to have acted without our permission and, well..." He offered his wrist in evidence.

There was no reaction beyond curiosity as Hermione brought the mark closer to her face to examine it. "It's rather pretty," she said absently, "What is it?" After she turned Cedric's wrist over, she looked up at him expectantly.

It seemed that they had just touched on one of the few subjects Hermione Granger (or was it Hermione Diggory or Hermione Wood now?) knew nothing about. The look Oliver and Cedric exchanged was nothing less than shocked.

"Err, do yeh want to explain?" the Scotsman asked unsurely, "I don't know much beyond what I remember my mum talkin' about to her friends way back when." He fidgeted with the sheet, biting his lip.

"Alright," Cedric sighed. He ran a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath in preparation. "You're familiar with the way magic sometimes acts on its own?" he asked, trying to figure out a way to ease her into this.

"I've heard of it," Hermione confirmed, frowning thoughtfully.

"Sometimes, it forms... bonds," Cedric told her, "I mean, legally binding magical bonds that can only be separated by death. Sibling bonds, protection bonds... marriage bonds. It usually happens at a critical moment in a relationship or when overwhelming personal danger is headed their way, but no one really knows how or why. It just... is. And, err, that's what happened to us." He winced at his horrible delivery.

The half-expected blow up never came. Instead, Hermione simply collapsed back onto the bed. "I know this isn't a sibling bond," she said half way to herself.

On the other side of the bed, Oliver snorted.

"So it's either a protection or a marriage bond..." Hermione continued, "But aren't marriages only legally binding when all participants are over seventeen?" There was no hope or disappointment in her eyes as she looked to Cedric for the answer, just curiosity.

"If your magic can do it, it's binding," he explained, "There were a number of child marriages up until the last goblin rebellion showed that it made them huge targets. So if it is a marriage bond, which I think it is, considering when it formed, then we're all legally married."

The silence between the three was uncomfortable. To be honest, it wasn't anything like Cedric had ever imagined for his first day of being married. The Room of Requirement, still being a sixth year, being a part of a triad, probably dying that day... It was so far out of what he had ever thought, he wondered if he was in an alternate reality.

"How are we going to tell your parents?" Hermione asked, breaking the awkward quiet that had descended, "Circe, how are we going to tell _my_ parents?"

Oliver shifted nervously before offering, "Chances are that Mr. and Mrs. Diggory already know. I saw their clock, those things automatically show marriages and the like. My dad tossed ours out years ago and I don't care if he ever finds out. It's yer parents I'm worried about, sparrow." He gazed over at her worriedly.

Weakly, Hermione smiled. "I don't think I'll tell them until at least next year," she said anxiously, "They won't understand at all, even with our magic acting on its own..." She gripped Cedric's hand with hers, seeking comfort.

He leaned over and kissed her forehead. "It'll be fine," he assured her with the brightest smile he could force on his face, "We'll both be there, right?" He felt horrible lying to her even as he looked over his shoulder at Oliver.

Their husband nodded. "Right," he agreed. A flash of apprehension crossed his face as he asked, "But, err, what do we tell Harry and Ron?"

Hermione and Cedric both groaned. Somehow, that thought hadn't come into the Hufflepuff's head at all... 'It might actually be a good thing I won't survive today...' he thought morbidly.

Eventually they forced themselves out of bed, then another hour or so later, out of the shower. Amused, Cedric made a mental note to take separate showers when they next had time constraints. It was nearly the middle of breakfast by the time they were all dressed.

"Be grateful yours are easy to cover," Cedric grumbled, though there wasn't any bite in it. He pulled at his uniform shirt sleeve anxiously, trying to cover his wrist better.

They had agreed to hide the bond until at least after the task. Afterward they would inform Harry, Ron and the Weasleys, but otherwise keep it as quiet as possible until Hermione's seventh year.

Though she was smiling, Hermione rolled her eyes. From a nearby table she lifted a leather cuff that had appeared and fastened it over his wrist. "Better?" she asked expectantly.

When he saw that the accessory didn't affect his wrist movement at all, Cedric nodded. "Perfect," he agreed.

From there they went their separate ways, the Gryffindors to their tower and the lone Hufflepuff to his basement. As he walked, changed into his tournament clothing and then went back up to breakfast, Cedric kept his mind firmly off of the maze. Otherwise he feared that he would go crazy with the uncertainty surrounding his possible death.

'This is why we're supposed to die when we're old,' Cedric thought, less than enthusiastic as he walked in the doors of the great hall.

Before he could reach the Hufflepuff table, the mail came flying in. A haughty tawny owl offered its leg, wings flapping smoothly to keep it motionless in the air. The letter had the ministry seal on it.

Cedric untied the letter and opened it hurriedly, wondering just what the government wanted with him. It wasn't like he was expecting a job offer or had done anything illegal... The envelope was stuffed with five pieces of parchment. The shortest one read:

_Dear Mr. Cedric Diggory,_

_Please accept our congratulations on your marriage to Mr. Oliver Wood and Ms. Hermione Granger. _

_Enclosed is a copy of your marriage certificate, on which we need all three of your signatures and the name you would like to share, if any. This is strictly for records purposes and will have no effect on the legality of your marriage._

_Sincerely,_

_Myfanwy Lawson_

_Vital Records Office_

Cedric groaned and turned around, making his way over to the Gryffindor table instead. As he walked, he looked at the certificate. It looked much like his parents' had, but with three categories of information instead of two and the signature lines were blank.

'Of course we can't keep it too hushed up,' Cedric thought cynically, 'Mr. Wood will hear about it by lunch, I can guarantee it.' He worked in the Department of Magical Law enforcement, not even around the corner from the Vital Records Office.

Once he was on a bench near the Weasley twins, he opened the next piece of parchment that didn't look like a certificate.

_Dear Mr. Diggory,_

_We regret to inform you of the deaths of Amos and Charys Diggory at their home near Ottery St. Catchpole on June 24, 1995. They died at approximately 1:23am via the Killing Curse._

_As the method of death is indicative of murder, aurors are investigating the scene. They will soon visit Hogwarts to ask you a few routine questions._

_You are advised to register soon with the ministry as the new head of your family._

_Please accept out condolences for your loss._

_Sincerely,_

_Myfanwy Lawson_

_Vital Records Office_

Cedric reread the letter three times before the meaning even began to process. His parents were dead. Not even regular "died of a heart attack" or "fell down the stairs and broke their neck" dead, but "murdered" dead.

It was physically impossible for him to cry. This was too sudden, too shocking, for that yet. Pain bloomed in Cedric's chest however, and he clutched at the spot over his heart. It burned almost unbearably.

Moments later, he came back to himself when his shoulder was shaken. "Cedric?" Harry called, frowning, "Our families are in the back chamber waiting. Cedric? Are you alright?"

Mutely, he handed Harry the letter. He couldn't seem to form the words around the lump in his throat.

"I'm sorry," Harry said lowly, honest sympathy shining in his eyes, "They didn't deserve that." He handed the letter back and put a hand on Cedric's shoulder comfortingly.

All the Hufflepuff could do was smile numbly. "You said that we're needed in the back chamber?" he asked. Or it sounded like him, a strange and almost normal version of him.

Harry nodded. Thankfully he seemed to know better than to say anything as he guided his fellow champion up the hall and through the door behind the staff table. It felt oddly like someone else was guiding his legs, Cedric thought.

Once in the chamber, he noticed Krum and his parents conversing quietly in a corner. He had inherited his father's hooked nose, Cedric noticed vaguely. On the other side of the room Gabrielle Delacour waved from her sister's side to them, temporarily tuning out of the rest of her family's jabbering. Near the fireplace were two red haired people, and shying away from them...

Somehow, even though exams were still going, Hermione stood on the other side of the fireplace. Rubbing her arms and occasionally giving the red haired woman the evil eye, stood Oliver, who was free of his N.E.W.T.'s since he didn't take Arithmancy. When they saw Harry and Cedric enter, they grinned brightly.

"Surprise!" the red haired woman shouted excitedly, sweeping Harry into a hug, "Thought we'd come and watch you, Harry." When she released the black haired boy she looked at him fondly, like a mother would.

The red haired man had come forward and stood in front of Cedric now, examining him. "Bill Weasley," he introduced himself, holding out a hand, "This is my mother."

Mechanically, Cedric stuck his hand out Then he realized that the papers were in that hand and switched, before shaking. "Good to meet you," he mumbled, not feeling it.

The moment Bill released his hand, Cedric was being nearly swept off his feet by his... spouses. It was unspeakably strange to even think the word. His whole life had turned upside down in under two hours.

"Where are your parents dear?" asked Mrs. Weasley concernedly, looking around the room.

That was the last straw. Startling everyone in the vicinity, including himself, Cedric burst into tears.

* * *

It worried Hermione how suddenly Cedric's tears stopped half an hour later. One minute he was sobbing into her shoulder and the next, his eyes were barely even wet. She could practically see the walls going up when she looked in his eyes.

"Don't shut me out," she whispered, "I want to help you."

A derisive snort from behind her drew her frustrated ire. "Mrs. Weasley, please," she huffed, wrapping her arms around Cedric's waist, "Now isn't the time for this."

The Weasley matriarch's cold look said everything. It both froze Hermione's insides and sent her temper skyrocketing.

Before she could say anything though, Oliver chastised irritably, "There's no need for yeh to be upset with Hermione. She hasn't done anythin' to any of us." He continued to rub Cedric's back soothingly.

"Hermione and I never dated," Harry added, "You don't believe that Rita Skeeter article, do you? There isn't a mystery boy, that was Oliver in those pictures." The look he gave Mrs. Weasley was absurdly disappointed.

Immediately, Mrs. Weasley changed her tune. "Oh no, of course not," she said quickly.

"Could I get an apology then?" Hermione requested.

There was a moment of quiet. "I'm... sorry," Mrs. Weasley finally said, though she obviously had a hard time with it, "I shouldn't have believed the tabloids."

Normally, Hermione wouldn't have let it go so easily. But with Cedric in no state to deal with a full-blown squabble, she did. "Next time, please don't," she requested neutrally, if a little coolly, before returning her full attention to her distressed boyfriend. No, husband, she corrected herself.

After that, they excused themselves and went back to the Room of Requirement. Being excused from her History of Magic exam until the day after the task, she was able to spend the full day with Cedric and Oliver there.

They all simply cuddled in front of a fireplace. Words couldn't do much good in these times, Hermione remembered poignantly from her uncle's funeral a few years ago. All they could do was be there and make sure Cedric knew he wasn't alone.

The hours passed quickly but slowly, with Oliver going down to fetch lunch from the kitchens near noon. None of them felt like dinner. It felt like days, but only minutes, before an alarm rang signaling that it was nearly time to go down to the maze. Truthfully it was probably eleven hours.

Almost silently they made their way down from the seventh floor. On the third floor however, they encountered Moody.

"Granger, come with me a minute," he growled, gesturing for her to follow.

Beside her, Cedric tensed up. He obviously didn't want her to leave.

"Go on. I'll meet you at the maze," Hermione promised with a short smile. She kissed Cedric on the cheek before following the ex-auror.

He led her into the next corridor and then an empty classroom. "Alright Granger," he said lowly once the door was shut, "I know you've bonded to Diggory and Wood."

Surprise didn't cover what Hermione felt. "But how?" she whispered, frowning. She folded her hands at hip level, right over where the mark wound across her torso.

"Saw the marks on you and your boys," Moody answered, tapping his cheek right below his magical eye, "You know the risks involved, right? Dark wizards would kill to get their hands on you."

Now that Moody had confirmed what Oliver had said on the clock tower stairs, fear rose up in Hermione's chest. She forced it back down with a gulp. "Our magic did it," she told him, "Not us. We would have waited."

The laugh that broke out of Moody's throat was rather discomfiting. "Even worse for you," he said grimly, "That's the sign of a very powerful bond... You haven't tried to use your wand yet, have you?" Obviously he was looking at it where it sat in her pocket.

"No," Hermione answered, confusion creeping in. She took her wand out of her pocket and examined it. There was nothing strange about it that she saw.

"Try it," Moody challenged, "Disarm me."

Taken aback by the instruction, Hermione frowned at him. "Sir, the task is about to start," she protested, "We'll be late."

"Not if you hurry up and disarm me," Moody told her, irritated, "Do it!"

"Expelliarmus," Hermione cast, simply wanting to get this over with.

Instead of the spell coming out the end of her wand, the wood heated up under her hand. It glowed briefly before it quite literally exploded into pieces, showering her with vine wood and dragon heart string.

"Wh-what..." she trailed off, alarmed. This was unprecedented. For once, Hermione didn't understand at all.

"You'd better tell Diggory and Wood about that," Moody advised, both eyes on her, "Don't want them blowing up at an inopportune moment. Try it wandlessly now."

Feeling foolish, Hermione made the motion and channeled her magic like there was still a wand in her hand. "Expelliarmus," she tried again. This time, the spell worked without a hitch, although Moody blocked it.

Her mind raced as she stared at her hand. What Oliver had said in the clock tower raced back through her mind and now made sense. That was why triads used wandless magic, their magic overloaded their wands and destroyed them. The simple disarming spell even felt more powerful than normal.

Another test was in order. "Avis," Hermione called, making a twisting motion with her hand as she envisioned canaries.

The canaries came, and when they landed on her shoulders, they felt warm and solid. That spell too, seemed powered up. Satisfied with her conclusion, Hermione vanished them.

"Take this, Granger," Moody told her, holding out three wands. One looked exactly like hers had and the others resembled Oliver's and Cedric's.

"But I can't use it," Hermione pointed out the obvious.

"They're fake," Moody explained, eyes narrowing at her, "Suddenly developing wandless magic will draw too much attention to you. Try this."

When she tested the disarming charm with the fake wand, she sensed her magic wind around the fake wand and then beam outward. The fake didn't explode, thankfully.

"Alright," Hermione agreed, seeing the sense in his suggestion. Dark wizards would be all over them as soon as it came out that another triad existed. It could only help to delay that as long as possible.

"I won't keep you any longer," Moody growled, "Give these to Diggory and Wood." He thrust the other fake wands out at her.

Hermione put her own in her pocket in place of her original wand. The other two she put in her other pocket. "Thank you sir," she said, giving him a small smile as she left.

The trip down to the pitch went quickly, as Hermione jogged part of the way. She had to get to Cedric before the tournament started!

* * *

When Hermione followed Moody, her husbands kept walking. The halls were quiet, as everyone was on the lower levels or making their way out to the maze now. It was the perfect time.

Spying the same broom closet they got together in, Oliver opened the door. With a wink and a jaunty grin, he pulled Cedric inside and closed the door. "Remember this place?" he asked.

The corner of his husband's lips turned up. "How could I not?" Cedric asked distantly.

"Lumos," Oliver cast. Instead of the end of his wand lighting up, the whole thing splintered in his hands. "Shite," he cursed, "What the hell?"

When Cedric tried, it worked perfectly. The thing was, instead of a bead of light on the end of his wand, there was one on the end of each finger. At the new development, he even looked mildly surprised.

There were no words appropriate for the situation, at least not in Oliver's mind. So he skipped them and leaned down to kiss Cedric senseless. It was desperate and needy, their mouths melding together and tongues battling until he nearly forgot his own name.

Only when he was sure Cedric's mind was mush did he pull away. "I'm sorry," Oliver whispered.

"Huh?" his husband questioned, eyes hazy in the dim light.

"Stupefy."

There wasn't even time for Cedric to feel betrayed before he was unconscious and being lowered onto the floor.

Looking at him, Oliver felt like a horrible person. 'It's for him,' he reminded himself, taking a bottle out of his pocket, 'It's to keep him alive. I'll come back, explain myself and grovel and he'll forgive me eventually.' The feeling of guilt only got worse as he put the bottle to Cedric's lips and massaged his throat to get him to swallow.

Less than a minute later, an exact double of Oliver lay on the floor in nothing but boxers. Quickly, he switched clothes so that his clothes were on Cedric and he was in a shirt and slacks that were a little too short for him. Reluctantly he pulled a few hairs out of the Hufflepuff's head and added them to a second and third bottle of polyjuice potion.

For a moment, Oliver paused. 'For Cedric,' he resolved, tipping back the bottle. He swallowed all of it, even the dregs that dribbled out. Thankfully Cedric tasted better than his potions book would have him believe anyone did, like mint and chocolate.

The transformation was painful. Even without any light, Oliver knew his skin was bubbling up and turning paler even as his scalp itched and hair grew out and lightened. The worst part though was the changes to his overall body structure as he shrank a few inches and his torso barreled. It was like his very bones were bruised as they adjusted to Cedric's dimensions.

By the time his body stopped changing, Oliver was praying to Merlin that he would never need to use polyjuice potion again. Still, he shoved the second bottle in his pocket for later.

With a last look down at Cedric, he left.

It took a few moments to get his bearings once he stepped out of the closet. Everything was a little taller, and it felt strange not having the lanky limbs he was used to. Although no one would ever think of it just by looking at him, Cedric was powerfully built.

It was most difficult keeping the blank expression on his face, especially when Professor Lowe caught up to him. "Dumbledore wouldn't do anything," she whispered urgently into his ear as they walked down the lawn toward the quidditch pitch, "I didn't have any proof. Still, he's going to keep an eye on the fake Moody just in case."

Oliver nearly had a heart attack. Fake Moody? Just what was Cedric keeping from him? Was Hermione okay? With a gulp, he nodded. "Good," he grunted shortly.

Understanding, Professor Lowe nodded. "You'll be fine," she assured him.

Somehow, Oliver didn't quite believe her. Anxiety roiled in his gut like before the quidditch championship game and he broke out in a cold sweat. Still, he nodded and tried to smile. It was more of a grimace.

"Cedric!" Hermione called from behind them, "Wait up!"

It was difficult to remember that _he_ was now Cedric. Tilting his head to the side curiously, he stopped for a moment.

When Hermione reached him, she bent over slightly, panting. "Your wand," she told him, holding out a copy of Cedric's wand.

"Thanks," Oliver croaked, stuffing it in his pocket. He tried again to smile, and again, failed.

"I need to get up to the stands now, I need to find Oliver," Hermione told him, straightening up again, "I'll be rooting for you." She stood on her toes and pecked him on the lips before she hurried ahead.

It was strange being referred to in third person. Watching his wife go to try to find him, Oliver regretted that he may not have more time with her. His lips tingled in response, as if refuting that thought.

"Let's go," Professor Lowe suggested, "It's about to start."

They entered the stadium through the main entrance, a strange experience. Oliver was more used to going through the Gryffindor changing room. The noise of the crowd was much like a game, almost a comforting sound.

When he saw the twenty foot tall hedges, Oliver felt his eyes go wide in horror. 'What was I thinking?' he thought, before changing his mind to, 'What were _they_ thinking? They ruined my pitch!' Even with the change in thought pattern, his face didn't regain any of the color he knew had fled his face.

On the pitch stood Fleur, Harry, Krum, Hagrid, Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall. "There you are," the headmaster called once he saw them, "Have you seen Professor Moody?"

"No," Professor Lowe answered, lips pursed.

At almost the same time, Moody called, "I'm right here." He limped into sight barely a minute after they entered the field.

The sight of his D.A.D.A. teacher made Oliver tense. Was he really an imposter? He kept a watch on the ex-auror even as he went over to stand by Harry.

Now that everyone was here, Professor Dumbledore gave them the full instructions for the task. There would be creatures, barriers and more for them to get past to find the cup. If they ever needed rescuing, they could send red sparks in the air and Professors Moody, McGonagall, Hagrid or Lowe would get them out. Otherwise the only restrictions were on Unforgivable Curses and the first person to touch the trophy cup would win. It sounded simple.

"On the first cannon blast, you head in, Mr. Diggory and Mr. Potter," Professor Dumbledore instructed, glancing at each person he referred to with those sparkling eyes, "Then you, on the second blast, Mr. Krum, and on the third blast, Ms. Delacour. Any more questions?"

The champions all shook their heads. Oliver had a feeling Professor Dumbledore knew something was up with him, as the twinkle grew brighter when he looked at him. It was nerve wracking.

The headmaster said nothing, however, beyond, "Good luck, champions." He left to announce the rules to the crowd at large then.

"Like I said, you'll be fine," Professor Lowe reiterated with the barest hint of a smile to him and Harry, "You're well prepared."

The cannon blast came in the middle of Professor Dumbledore's speech. For a moment everything went quiet, but he resumed what he was saying without a hitch.

Meanwhile, Oliver and Harry had raced into the maze. It was dark and the noise from the crowd had been silenced somehow, by the maze or by magic. At first there was only one path, but about fifty yards in that turned to a fork.

"See you," Harry told him, turning left.

Figuring that to mean that he wanted to be on his own, Oliver took the right. His heart beat furiously as the hedges seemed to close in on him. Only looking up at the sky kept him grounded, reminding him that he could get out if he needed to.

It was little comfort when the hedges blocked out all light and sound. Turning left at the nearest intersection, Oliver kept running until it felt like his chest was about to explode. Not that Cedric was unfit, but he was built more for strength than speed.

The next thing he knew, the sleeve of his shirt was on fire. Lighting his fingertips, Oliver saw with horror that it was one of Hagrid's blast-ended skrewts, but... huge. It had to be at least ten feet long and waist height, with a huge stinger and unfriendly claws snapping as it turned around.

Once he put out the fire on his sleeve, Oliver saw that it had gotten stuck trying to turn around. 'The hedges are good for _something_, at least,' he thought cynically. With little effort, he vaulted himself over the skrewt's back and ran as fast as he could away.

Upon finding another intersection, he found himself face-to-wand with Harry. Upon seeing that it was only his fellow Gryffindor, he sighed. "Hagrid's blast-ended skrewts," Oliver explained, struggling to hide his accent, "They're enormous- I only just got away."

In the dim light from Harry's wand and his own fingertips, Oliver saw him pale. They went their separate ways, eager to get away from Hagrid's horrible creature.

After getting past a kappa in a strangely watery path, Oliver took a sip of the polyjuice potion. Once again, he thanked Merlin that the mixture tasted rather good. If he never had to take it again, it would be too soon.

Not even a minute after he put the bottle back in his pocket, he heard Fleur scream. It sent shivers down his spine. Whatever had gotten her, he didn't want to run into it.

But whatever it was- especially if it were a skrewt- could potentially keep hurting her long after she was unconscious. It just wouldn't sit right with him to leave Fleur to it. Figuring that his conscience had already taken enough of a beating today, he took off toward where he heard her.

'It might even put me out of commission,' he mused, checking the sky again, 'I can't say I'd mind that in comparison to death.'

There were no sparks. Did Fleur manage to get herself out of it, or was she too hurt to reach her wand? The mystery kept him barreling on ahead.

Upon rounding a corner however, he saw Krum coming from the direction of the scream. "Is Fleur alright?" he called.

The Durmstrang competitor turned sharply toward him. Something was off though, he wasn't answering at all.

"Krum?" Oliver tried again, backing up.

"Reducto," the other champion cast, wand aimed directly at him.

Alarmed, Oliver threw himself to the ground. The curse brushed the ends of his hair as it passed overhead. "Krum! Whats gotten into yeh!" he reprimanded, forgetting to disguise his accent.

Still, Krum kept walking toward him, firing curses as he went.

Acting totally on instinct, Oliver dodged everything. "What're yeh doin'?" he shouted, "What the hell do yeh think yer doin'?" Too late, he noticed that Krum was practically on top of him.

"Crucio," the Bulgarian cast monotonously, eyes blank and out of focus.

Pain ripped through Oliver like he had never experienced before. It was fifty times worse than the polyjuice potion, worse than he had ever thought existed. Knives were stabbing into his eyes, his bone marrow was on fire, his innards twisted and he felt ready to puke. He couldn't hear anything over his own yells that sounded too much like Cedric...

Suddenly, the pain stopped. Panting, Oliver just realized that his nails were digging into his face and he was curled into a ball on the ground. Shakily, he forced himself into a sitting position.

Just a few feet away, Krum was laying unconscious. Just the sight of him made Oliver angry, so he looked to his right.

Pale and shaken, Harry still had his wand out. "Are you alright?" he asked. Behind him, a hole in the hedge closed up.

"Yeah," Oliver panted, voice raspy from screaming, "Yeah... I don't believe it... I asked him if Fleur was alright and he started cursin' me..." With a grunt, he wobbled to his feet.

"I can't believe this," Harry said, staring at Krum's prone form, "I thought he was alright."

Feeling bitter about the whole thing, Oliver barely refrained from kicking the foreigner. Instead, he picked up his bottle from the ground. "You think he got Fleur too?" he asked, back in character, "He was coming from that way."

Eyeing the bottle, Harry shrugged. "It sounds like it," he replied darkly, "Should we leave him here?"

Another glare at Krum resulted in Oliver battling for his temper again. "Unfortunately, no," he growled, "Might get eaten by a skrewt before I got my fair chance at him." That was a day he looked forward to.

Still, he sent red sparks up in the air. In the brief light he noticed Harry looking at him strangely, but shrugged it off. They could always talk later.

"So I guess we'd better go on," Oliver suggested awkwardly.

"Oh," Harry mumbled, "Yeah... Right..."

They turned and walked up the path and into the even deeper darkness. Wordlessly, Oliver turned right and saw the other Gryffindor turn left. Now that only he and Harry were left in the running, he didn't really have anything to worry about, he realized with a relieved smile. In celebration he drained the last of the polyjuice potion and vanished the container.

Not even trying to keep up the act, he strolled along. The path curved like a bow and had no intersections, but that was fine with Oliver. If nothing else, it didn't seem that there was any trouble up ahead...

Five minutes and four turns later, he was proven wrong. Somehow he had accidentally taken a shortcut that led him pretty much right to the center of the maze. He could see the trophy cup gleam from thirty yards away.

A look over his shoulder revealed that Harry was right behind him. 'Shite,' Oliver mentally cursed, but got into character again. He sprinted toward the cup as fast as he could.

"Cedric!" Harry yelled, "On your left!"

Just in time, Oliver was able to tuck his body into a roll and avoid whatever obstacle was there. When he looked up at it bearing down on him, he was horrified. It was not only a spider, but the _biggest damned spider he had ever seen. _And considering what his father's house was like, he had seen a lot of those.

"Stupefy!" Oliver shouted, a hand lifted up at the spider's belly. The red jet of light bounced off and barely missed hitting him.

From his side, Harry cast a stunning spell as well, attracting the spider's attention. It moved on from Oliver then and scuttled toward the younger Gryffindor at top speed.

Once it was off of him, he took a deep breath. Then Oliver was casting at the spider again, trying to keep Harry alive because whatever the hell this spider was eating, it must have built up some immunity to magic. Only a disarming charm seemed to work, upon which it dropped Harry.

Hearing his Seeker yell in pain, Oliver felt his temper blaze again. "Yeh're gonna get it this time," he muttered to himself, scowling at the spider. He felt his magic build up in his fingertips, waiting for him to give it form...

"Stupefy!"

Two stunning spells seemed to do what one couldn't. The spider slumped over to the side, partially crushing one of the hedges.

"Harry!" Oliver called, putting his accent away again, "Are you alright? Did it fall on you?" He ducked through the maze of legs that were as thick as table legs to get to his Seeker.

"No," Harry replied, shaking his head, "Go on, take the cup. You're already there." He was having trouble standing, clutching at the partially destroyed hedge to keep his balance.

The mere thought of what lay beyond that cup had Oliver shaking his head. "You take it," he disagreed, "You should win. That's twice you've saved my neck in here."

"That's not how it's supposed to work," Harry snapped, "The one who touches the cup first gets the points. That's you. I'm not winning any races on this leg." He gave his injured leg a disgusted look, obviously disappointed.

"It's not a race anymore," Oliver said stubbornly, taking a step away from the cup, "So you can take as long as you need to get to it. Go. Take it." His competitive nature was fighting to get the best of him and accept it. The memory of Hermione's nightmare kept him from it.

Considering, Harry looked to the cup for a moment. Then stupidly, unexpectedly, he said, "Both of us."

Oliver's stomach roiled and he went pale again. "What?" he asked, hoping he had heard wrong.

"We'll take it at the same time," Harry explained, wincing when he tried to stand on his injured leg again, "It's still a Hogwarts victory. We'll tie for it." When he looked up at Oliver, there was a determined glint in his eyes.

Although his mind raced, Oliver couldn't find a way to refuse. Not one that Harry would accept, beyond being disarmed and tossed at the damned cup. "You- you sure?" he asked, hoping for a change of mind.

"Yeah," Harry confirmed, "We've been in this together so far. Let's end it the same way."

Sighing, Oliver squeezed his eyes shut. When he reopened them, he nodded. "Come on then," he told the younger Gryffindor, "Lean on me." He pulled Harry's arm over his shoulder and slowly, they walked the distance to the trophy.

The closer they got, the harder Oliver's heart pounded. This was suicide. He didn't want to _die_ yet, but how would he ever try to explain what he meant to Harry? The boy would look at him like he was crazy, ask what he'd been smoking, and then force his hand down onto the portkey.

All too soon, they stood in front of the eerily glowing trophy. In a way it was beautiful, a large crystal and and silver creation, possibly goblin made. It made the hairs on the back of Oliver's neck stand up.

"On three," Harry said, staring hard at the cup, "One- two- three-"

They each took a hold of a handle. The familiar feeling of a hook behind his navel nearly made Oliver sick. He knew exactly where it was going and what would happen there...

They crashed into a dark, dank, deserted graveyard.

* * *

-EOC-

Sorry about the multiple chapter alert emails this sent out! I wasn't aware that ff.n did that whenever I edited. I just realized that I had accidentally left out the disclaimer, not to mention the whole debacle with Krum... Not good!

Hope that this lived up to everybody's expectations otherwise, though. I obviously used the book as my guide, since I have a PDF of it and I don't own the movie.

Please drop me a review and tell me how it was!

-Thrae


	18. Lord Voldemort

Many thanks to my fantastic reviewers: nikyta, Whisper Gypsy, asianstotheleft and Booklover9477.

Disclaimer: I own nothing under copyright, including some quotes borrowed from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. Furthermore, when I speak of Harold Lowe, I mean the James Cameron character and not the real person. I do own Moira Lowe, Titanica Pitman, Clodagh Bride and the Head Hunter Hex.

* * *

Chapter Eighteen: Lord Voldemort

The third task was actually planned fairly well, Hermione thought, grudgingly impressed. With the quidditch stands being so high, the spectators could see nearly every part of the maze except the middle. That was shrouded in darkness that the trophy only partially cut through.

The fake wand meant for Oliver burned in her pocket. Where was he? Had he tried to use his real wand and gotten injured?

'No, Cedric would have told me,' Hermione told herself, taking a seat next to Ron in the stands, 'He's probably being sick with worry or something...' Lying to herself was getting to be a bad habit.

Worried about both her husbands, Hermione put all her focus into watching Harry and Cedric in the maze. For some reason they had split up. With every obstacle (Cedric coming across more of them than Harry for some absurd reason) her nerves frayed more and more.

Right after Fleur screamed from within the hazy darkness, Hermione clamped her hands over her ears and her eyes shut. "I... I'll be right back," she told Ron, gulping down her fear. She had to find Oliver, _now_, or at least not be there if Harry or Cedric were hurt. She couldn't take that.

Hurriedly, she climbed down the bleachers to find the restroom. Before Hermione could get to it however, there was a feeling in her navel that she had only experienced once before. In her pockets the fake wands glowed and suddenly the stadium was a whirl of color.

'Portkeys!' Hermione thought, still staring down at them in horror even as she was transported out of the Hogwarts grounds, 'The wands are portkeys and Mad-Eye Moody- that's not him!' She had a sick feeling she knew where she was being taken.

When she was thrown from the sky into a graveyard, Hermione gulped. Fear nearly choked her as she stared around the very place she had seen in her nightmares.

The moon was rising on the horizon, creating an eerie half-light that only further deepened the shadows. Wind rustled through the yew tree nearby, giving the illusion of something creeping up on her... or was someone actually there? On edge, Hermione whipped her head around to try to see everything. Only old, derelict headstones and a creepy monument of the grim reaper were in sight.

A door opened nearby, setting her on edge. The notion of having wandless magic comforted Hermione only slightly as she tried to identify the direction the noise came from. With the terrain of the graveyard, it was nearly impossible. Everything right down to her own breathing echoed.

"Stupefy," mumbled the very voice Hermione had expected: Peter Pettigrew. Her last thought before falling unconscious was to thank Merlin, Morgana and Circe that she hadn't been able to find Oliver.

* * *

The portkey finally threw Oliver and Harry to the ground one sickening trip later. "Where are we?" the younger Gryffindor asked, pushing his glasses further up his nose.

Looking around, Oliver had a feeling he would rather not know. "Let's get back to the cup, Harry," he suggested seriously, "This isn't a part of the task." He took a guarded step back, his senses extended as far as humanly possible.

On the other hand, Harry looked around more. Something caught his attention in the distance however. "Cedric," he said quietly, "I think someone is tied up to that obelisk." He pulled himself to his feet with a wince and pointed to it.

"Even if they are, it's none of our concern," Oliver hissed, the hairs on the back of his neck rising again, "We need to get out of here-"

"Oh no..." groaned a voice that made him change his mind immediately, "Oh no... Go! Leave now, please! Go!" It was Hermione.

"Like hell we're leavin' yeh here!" Oliver barked, forgetting his role, "Just a sec, we'll get yeh out, sparrow." Reluctantly he helped Harry hobble over the the obelisk as well, figuring that they had a better chance together.

The ropes holding Hermione to the stone didn't leave her an inch of leeway, Oliver saw when he grew closer. No matter how she was struggling, she could barely move. In the dim light, he could see the tears trailing down her face and the fear in her eyes. "Please leave, I'll be fine," she begged, "You need to get back..."

In the distance, a door opened. Focused on freeing Hermione, neither boy paid attention to it. "Diffindo," Oliver muttered, making a chopping motion with his hand at the rope.

One section fell away, but several more remained. Frustrated, Oliver cast the spell again only to have the same result.

"What are you doing here, Hermione?" asked Harry, warily keeping an eye out, "Where is this place?"

"I don't know where," Hermione admitted, "I just- Cedric! Look out!" She shrieked the last part, looking past Harry in horror.

Oliver rose to his feet smoothly, but knew he wasn't fast enough to avoid the spell. The full body bind curse struck him like lightning, fixing his body rigidly as he stood. Only his eyes could move, and they glared accusingly at the hooded man who had cast it.

Barely a second after Oliver was frozen, Harry was sent flying into a statue of the grim reaper. Silvery ropes came out of the hooded stranger's wand and bound the younger boy. The wand was held by a hand with only three fingers and a thumb...

'Peter Pettigrew,' he thought, remembering the story Sirius Black had told them. The realization washed over him like a wave of cold water.

"You!" Harry accused, before the sound of flesh on flesh echoed around the yard. Pettigrew had struck him.

The sound of shuffling footsteps echoed, but the man didn't come into Oliver's line of sight again.

"You shouldn't have touched the cup," Hermione whispered brokenheartedly, "And the wand- I'm so sorry Cedric, the fake wands were portkeys, I didn't know..."

Out of the corner of Oliver's eye, he saw motion. Further into his line of sight, Pettigrew dragged a stone cauldron big enough to sit in and filled to the brim with water. It looked and sloshed like water anyway, but knowing that this was a Dark wizard...

Though he felt like a loon for doing so, Oliver gave thanks that it was him and not Cedric that had taken the portkey. Only the body bind curse he was under and his own Gryffindor courage was even keeping him upright.

Pettigrew had lit a fire with his wand in the meanwhile, and the liquid's identity became even more of a mystery. It seemed to heat up very fast, sending up more and more sparks until the entire surface was roiling and glittering. It couldn't have been a good sign for Harry, Hermione or Oliver.

"Hurry!" a high, cold voice called from near the ground. When Oliver looked, it appeared to be coming from a bundle of robes set near a gravestone.

The steam from the cauldron blurred Pettigrew's outline, but it had to be him who said, "It is ready. Master." There was no one else in the graveyard that Oliver could sense.

"Now..." the cold voice said again. It was definitely coming from the bundle.

Almost stumbling over to it, Pettigrew lifted the bundle and cast the cloth aside. Oliver wished he hadn't; the sight of the thing inside would haunt his nightmares as long as he lived. A muffled yell that was too masculine to be Hermione showed that Harry felt the same way.

The thing that Pettigrew now held was the size and basic shape of an infant, but nothing could have looked less like one. It was thin and frail looking with a bulbous head and greyish skin. In the light of the moon and flames, its hide was scaly and slimy looking, and its face... The bright red eyes reminded Oliver forcefully of when Professor Lowe's vampire form, but even less human. Cold and uncaring and greedy.

In the firelight, Oliver could now see Pettigrew's face and for a moment, he almost pitied him. The man looked terrified out of his wits. He dropped the thing into the cauldron with a splash.

'Let it drown,' Oliver prayed to whoever was listening, 'Let it drown, let it drown...' He could hear Hermione muttering the basic same thing over and over. It was almost comforting to be reminded that he wasn't alone here.

"Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son," Pettigrew cast. His voice warbled heavily.

From the dirt at the base of the monument Harry was tied to, a long white bone rose up. It floated into the mixture of the cauldron, which turned an acidic blue.

"Flesh- of the servant- w-willingly given- you will- revive- your master," Pettigrew continued, sobbing pathetically now.

Oliver couldn't have torn his eyes away from the sight if he'd wanted to. It was like a train wreck as Pettigrew raised his hand above the cauldron and with the flash of a knife, cut it off. The appendage fell into the mixture and turned it bright searing red. It was Pettigrew's scream though, that was the worst- a howl of misery and pain that pierced the night.

Whimpering, the handless man staggered out of Oliver's sight. For a moment he thought that Pettigrew had given up, had run away, but the last line of the spell made a cold feeling take up residence in his chest: "B-blood of the enemy... forcibly taken... you will... resurrect your foe."

It was Harry who let out a muffled cry of pain. As much as Oliver hated to admit it, he was simply relieved it wasn't Hermione.

Pettigrew flicked blood off the end of his dagger into the cauldron and suddenly white smoke billowed out. Everything around Oliver faded out of sight with it, though he could hear Hermione's sharp breathing and Pettigrew's moans of pain easily.

'Please let it have gone wrong,' Oliver prayed again, wishing he could close his eyes, 'Please, let it be dead, let it have gone wrong...' But through the slowly clearing steam, he could see the outline of a skeletal man standing in the cauldron.

He stepped out of it. "Robe me," ordered the cold voice.

More clearly now, Oliver could see Pettigrew as he pulled the robe over the person's head with his remaining hand. The smoke cleared out quickly now, and he nearly choked on his own saliva in horror at the sight.

The man resembled the child thing, but if possible, looked even worse. His nose was flat and had slits for nostrils and he was hairless, with long bony fingers that brushed over the robe idly. His skin was whiter than a skull now, and if possible, his eyes had grown an even brighter red and were slitted like a cat's.

"Oh no, not..." Hermione trailed off, horrified, before she whispered, "You-Know-Who."

* * *

With a groan, Cedric opened his eyes. It was dark around him except for a strip of light, like from under a door. 'What happened?' he wondered, feeling around the floor he lay on for his wand, 'Why am I on the floor?'

Head pounding, he hauled himself to his feet. His clothes smelled like Oliver and they were too long and too tight. Were they even his?

"Lumos," Cedric muttered, hoping that it would work for him wandlessly. It did, and when he looked down at himself, he was in a Puddlemere United raglan and a pair of jeans. Those definitely weren't his clothes.

Ignoring the pounding in his head, he struggled to think back. Slowly, everything trickled in. The Room of Requirement, Moody taking Hermione aside, Oliver pulling him into their broom closet... When he reached the memory of being knocked out, Cedric immediately got angry.

'What was he thinking?' he thought indignantly, 'That idiot! He's going to get himself killed!'

Uncaring of the consequences, Cedric kicked the closet door open and stormed out of the castle. All the while, betrayal, gratefulness and premature grief warred within him for dominance. When he got to the entrance to the stadium, he took a deep breath an plunged in.

Quiet slowly descended as he walked around the edge of the pitch to the judge's table. "You have to call off the task," he told them sternly, slamming his palms down on the wood, "That wasn't me that entered the maze, it was Oliver!"

Taken aback, madame Maxime asked, "And who eez theez Oleever?"

"My boyfriend!" Cedric seethed, "He knocked me out and I can only assume he polyjuiced into me to do the task! You have to call it off!"

Professor Dumbledore stared at the sixth year with a grave expression. "I fear that it is beyond our control to take him out now," he said.

Unexpectedly, Professor Lowe cut in. "Neither of them are in the maze anymore," she reported, sprinting to the judges' table, "The tracking spell I put on Cedric- wait..." She looked at Cedric incredulously for a moment before she continued, "Or, whoever was pretending to be Cedric, it says he's not on the grounds anymore. What do we do?"

The bottom seemed to have dropped out of Cedric's stomach. "What?" he shouted, "You lost him! I can't believe you bloody lost him!" It was wrong to take his anger out on her, but at the moment, he could care less. He would have yelled more, but Professor Dumbledore gave him a look that made him fall silent immediately.

"If you will, I need you to go fetch Mr. Wood- who is presumably still in Mr. Diggory's form- and Mr. Potter," the headmaster told Professor Lowe, the twinkle in his eyes gone, "Wherever you sense them, go."

With a curt nod, Professor Lowe sprinted away toward the exit of the stadium.

Cedric made to go after her, but she was too fast. By the time he even thought of following, she was already nearing the exit. "What do I do, then?" he asked dully.

"You-" Professor Dumbledore began, but he was cut off by Karkaroff.

"How do we know this is not the imposter?" the foreign headmaster asked shrewdly, examining Cedric with cold eyes.

Rather than feeling shivers like he usually would, the Hufflepuff scowled. Figuring that they were already wide out in the open with Oliver disappearing, he pulled up Oliver's shirt sleeve just enough to reveal the mark around his wrist. "You would know these can't be faked," he challenged, "It's me. Cedric Diggory."

On the edge of the table, the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, spluttered. "You can't mean to say that the office gossip was right!" he yelped, "A triad in this day and age?"

The look Cedric gave him was cold. "Our magic did it last night," he told the Minister, "Without our consent."

Before more could be said, there was a hiss of pain from Karkaroff. He clutched his left forearm tightly, face pinched and splotched with red. Desperately, he tore his sleeve up.

The Dark Mark stood out harshly against his white arm. Repulsed, Cedric saw that it was getting darker by the second until it was the blackest black he had ever seen. The snake, looking oddly like a tongue, moved this way and that in a hypnotizing pattern.

"He's back," Professor Dumbledore stated simply. There was no surprise in his voice or expression, just an overwhelming sadness.

As the judges squabbled, Cedric staggered away to collapse on the ground. There was only one person Professor Dumbledore could have been referring to, when combined with the Dark Mark blackening...

All Cedric could do was pray that Oliver, Harry and Professor Lowe had quick, painless deaths. Lord Voldemort was back.

* * *

The movements of the Dark Lord were nearly mesmerizing. Despite his skeletal frame and inhuman features, he moved with a rarely found grace. It was almost too easy to tune out what he was saying and just watch.

"... He didn't like magic, my father," You-Know-Who sighed, "But I didn't need him, I had something better. A woman who matched my magical strength, who was able to do wonderful things with her magic... Who I, unfortunately, underestimated." He clucked to himself, stepping carelessly over Pettigrew.

Pity did well up in Oliver this time, as he watched the Death Eater curled up on the ground. In another time and place, he could see Pettigrew as something more than what he ended up.

"She left," explained You-Know-Who simply, "She slipped me a simple sleeping draught and warded me inside the house... Then she took the children and left... Look at me, reliving my family history... I am getting quite sentimental... But look, Harry! My true family returns..."

As soon as he finished speaking, there were loud cracks as wizards apparated in. All in black hooded cloaks, they closed in on their Lord like dementors swooping down. 'If only they were,' Oliver thought bitterly, 'I wouldn't mind being a casualty as long as he went too.'

The last two people to pop in made his blood freeze. One had come via side-along apparition, wearing a deep green robe under a black cloak. His carved features were set in an expression of exaltation, his brown eyes lit with a maniacal fire that made Oliver feel sick.

"We have a visitor, I see," You-Know-Who observed, toying with a wand that he had withdrawn from the pocket of his robe.

"Alexander Wood, my lord," introduced the man who had brought him, "He wishes to join our cause."

In horror, Oliver watched his father kneel to kiss the hem of You-Know-Who's robes like the actual Death Eaters. "My lord," he whispered reverently, "I would live to serve you, if you would have me."

There was a hint of amusement in You-Know-Who's snake-like face. "We'll see," he commented lightly, "We'll see, Wood. Stand beside Lucius."

With a last bow, Mr. Wood did so. Though his eyes briefly scanned Oliver, Hermione and Harry, they showed nothing other than curiosity.

Then, You-Know-Who began his monologue. It would be a lie to say it wasn't hypnotizing, or even informative. It revealed a treasure trove of information, actually, things about how Harry survived the killing curse and what had happened in the third floor corridor three years ago.

It was easy to see how he had fooled people for so many years. Even in the inhuman form he had taken, there was something about You-Know-Who that was frighteningly enthralling. So much so that Oliver didn't realize his hour was up until he felt the now familiar itching on his scalp.

The Death Eater's gasps drew You-Know-Who's attention back to him. If he hadn't already been frozen in place, Oliver would have done it himself. Those cold, heartless eyes were burning into his very soul.

"Ah," breathed You-Know-Who, "This brings me back to what our other two guests are doing here... If they choose right, we will have two new brothers and a sister in our family tonight."

An unnatural curl of satisfaction rose in Oliver's stomach at the look on his father's face. The man was horrified, angry, and above all, embarrassed.

The body bind curse was released an Oliver stumbled to regain his bearings. "Hello, father," he greeted Mr. Wood, barely resisting the urge to sneer, "Moved on to terrorizin' the world at large instead of just me?" Still, he kept part of his attention of You-Know-Who at all times.

"Terrorizin'?" Mr. Wood shouted, "I was tryin' to teach yeh the right way, but yeh never got it! Yeh never listened and now look at yeh!"

This time, Oliver was unable to restrain himself. "Teach me the right way," he laughed to himself coldly before snarling, "Well I hate to break it to yeh, but between screamin' at me an' beatin' the piss outa me, yeh failed!"

He heard Hermione gasp. Now that he knew it wasn't normal to get smacked around by his dad, he could see why. "Go to hell, Wood," Oliver finished coolly, "I'm a Diggory now and proud of it."

Mr. Wood had turned redder than he had ever seen him. If he didn't know better, he would have thought that the man was about ready to explode. But he didn't.

Instead, You-Know-Who laughed. The sound sent shivers down Oliver's spine like cold water had just been dumped over his head. "Its because of your bond that I'm offering you this chance, Oliver," the Dark Lord said, his voice holding a dark promise, "I could spare you and your wife tonight. You could have all the glory and riches you ever wanted, more power than you ever dreamed was possible. All you have to do is pledge your loyalty to me."

To almost anyone else, it would be tempting. To Oliver, it was rubbish. Unwisely, but uncaring of the fact, he snapped at You-Know-Who, "Yeh can go to hell too."

In response, the Dark Lord sighed, "If you insist..." Seemingly regretfully, he pointed his wand at a point over Oliver's shoulder. "Crucio."

The moment Hermione started screaming, he went white. "No!" he roared, diving in front of the jet of light. The pain was unbearable, it made Krum's cruciatus look like a day at the beach. It only lasted a second, but already Oliver wanted to beg for death. The pain stopped and he panted, hard.

"Oliver..." Hermione whispered, eyes wide and welled up with tears, "Oliver, please..."

Stubbornly, he stayed right where he was. "I'll be alright," he lied, forcing a crooked grin, "Don't worry about me, sparrow." His entire body tingled with the aftershocks of the curse.

"Ah, _love_," You-Know-Who sneered, "The answer to everything in their Gryffindor minds."

Before he could turn to see what was happening, Oliver felt ropes binding him to Hermione and the obelisk. "What the-" he began, struggling to move. He couldn't, not a single inch.

"Now, I will give Harry Potter his chance," You-Know-Who turned his attention to the black haired boy smoothly, "He will be allowed to fight, and you will be left in no doubt who is the stronger. Now untie him Wormtail, and give him back his wand."

His face to the stone, Oliver couldn't see what happened from then on. Truthfully he was grateful that Hermione didn't describe it, especially when he heard Harry's yells of pain. Twice they echoed around the graveyard, making him wince. A shout of, "I WON'T!" from Harry made him proud to know the boy...

At the same time, Harry and You-Know-Who cast their spells. "Expelliarmus!" the Gryffindor shouted, almost making Oliver laugh, while his nemesis hissed, "Avada Kedavra!" Red and green lights flashed brightly, then a gold one appeared.

A sound began echoing from where Harry stood, one that gave Oliver hope. He didn't recognize it at all, but that was unimportant when his heart felt full to bursting. The Death Eaters were screaming, You-Know-Who was ordering them to do nothing...

"Pst!" whispered a voice Oliver never thought he'd hear again, "Hold still! I'm going to get you out!" For some reason Professor Lowe was there.

Between him and the stone, Hermione started. "Is Dumbledore here?" she asked hopefully.

Crouched by their feet, Professor Lowe shook her head. "I'm alone," she told them quietly. In the golden light her eyes went red and she used her extended nails to saw through the ropes. "I knew you were going to be an idiot and replace Diggory, but I thought you'd be smarter than touching the cup!" she berated Oliver as she worked, "If I'd have known, I never would have given you the damned polyjuice!"

Avoiding Hermione's accusing eyes, Oliver quickly changed the subject. "We can't leave Harry," he insisted, "He's right there! He's fighting You-Know-Who!" There was no way in hell she could force him to.

"We're not going to," Professor Lowe assured him, making quick work of the last ropes, "We're going to hide and wait until he gets out of that mess and- shit!" As soon as she cut herself off, she rolled to the side.

Where she had been crouching, a burn mark fizzled the grass.

Oliver wriggled out of the ropes that were left and lifted Hermione out of hers. "Time to hide," he muttered unnecessarily.

A look to the right, where the fight had somehow drifted, showed that Harry was running toward them at top speed. "To the cup!" he shouted, wide eyed with fear.

The Death Eaters were hot on his tail, firing stunning spells as they ran. But off to the side by the portkey... Mr. Wood's face was red with rage and he obviously wasn't aiming at Harry. "Avada Kedavra!" he shouted.

Just in time, Oliver pulled Hermione to the ground. Bent over, they ran toward the cup. Spells whizzed by their ears, barely missing limbs and sending Hermione's hair flying into her face on more than one occasion. 'Just a few more seconds...' he thought, eyes on the portkey.

When they were still feet from the cup, Harry was already kneeling beside it. "Come on!" he called desperately, ducking under a stunner.

Out of the corner of his eye, Oliver saw a jet of green light. His heart almost thudded out of his chest when he realized he wouldn't have time to warn Hermione or to pull her down... Without a thought, he veered behind her and shoved her at the portkey.

"Oliver!" Hermione screamed, terror in every syllable.

All he saw was black.

* * *

EOC

Oh gosh, I feel like kicking myself again. That was cruel, even for me. Please don't kill me!

Also, I managed to forget an important line break... If I had the patience, I'd try to get a beta reader.

Please leave a review and let me know how it was!

-Thrae


	19. There and Back Again

Many thanks to my stupendous reviewers: Whisper Gypsy, LeonaMasha, asianstotheleft, Ashies, Booklover9477, Guest and Pear Killer.

A special thanks goes to my 100th reviewer, nikyta!

Disclaimer: I own nothing under copyright, including quotes borrowed from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. Furthermore, when I speak of Harold Lowe, I mean the James Cameron character and not the real person. I do own Moira Lowe, Titanica Pitman, Clodagh Bride and the Head Hunter Hex.

* * *

Chapter Nineteen: There and Back Again

It had been over half an hour since Professor Lowe had left. The crowd was getting antsy and the judges sat in a tense silence, unsuccessful in resolving their argument.

Cedric barely noticed. 'Please,' he begged whoever was listening, leaning his head back against the stands with closed eyes, 'Please bring him back, I need him... Hermione needs him, please, bring him back safe...'

The thought had struck to wonder about Hermione. Since he had come into the stadium, he hadn't seen her at all. Was she somehow with Harry and Oliver? The very concept sent a shiver of fear down Cedric's spine.

Two solid thumps signaled a heavy object landing on each side of him. He didn't bother to crack open an eye, having a feeling he already knew who they were.

"What the hell happened, Cedric?" questioned Titanica to his left.

"Yeah, we could have sworn that was you going into the maze," added Clodagh to his right.

It took a moment to think past the waves of melancholy. "It was Oliver," Cedric croaked. When he opened his mouth again, he was unable to get anything more about his husband past the lump in his throat. So instead, he asked, "Where's Hermione?"

On either side of him, the girls exchanged worried glances. "We thought she was with you!" Clodagh exclaimed, "Err, Oliver!"

The bottom dropped out of Cedric's stomach. "You haven't seen her?" he demanded.

"She went to the bathroom a while ago but she never came back," explained Titanica, frowning, "We thought that Oliver wasn't feeling well or something and she went to check up on him, since he wasn't here either." Her lips pursed and she took a glance up at Cedric, wondering. Gingerly, she reached up and gripped his shoulder in comfort.

Nothing more was said for ten minutes. The silence wasn't uncomfortable, but it was tense and expectant. They were all anxious for Oliver, Harry, Hermione and Professor Lowe to be back.

Unexpectedly there was a searing feeling on Cedric's wrist. He hissed in discomfort and pulled up the sleeve of Oliver's shirt again, hoping against hope... His heart nearly stopped and he gaped in horror at what he saw.

The red band was quickly darkening. Even as he watched, it turned from Gryffindor red to burgundy to black in a matter of seconds. Not only that, but the magic within the mark was weakening. He felt nearly as he had before the bonding, nearly as alone and vulnerable in comparison.

"No," he whispered, instinctively knowing what had happened, "No, no, no, no, no!" Disbelief and overwhelming grief fought within him.

At nearly the same time, four people spun into existence in front of the judges' table.

The crowd went wild, screaming and hollering themselves hoarse. But for every person cheering, another was wondering what the hell was going on. A shrill shriek from the newly appeared group silenced the spectators.

Knowing that voice, Cedric was on his feet before he could think. 'Hermione,' he realized, sprinting to where he could see her bushy hair. The closer he got, the more his throat seemed to seal up. Harry was there too, and Professor Lowe was whispering in their ears as they clutched a prone body wearing too-short black slacks...

Suddenly he was there. For the second time that day Cedric found himself in a state of shock, but this time the tears flooded him within seconds. Pain didn't exist in his knees despite how he fell onto them, reaching hesitantly out to touch what had become so precious to him.

Oliver's frozen face wore the same expression Cedric had seen many times on the quidditch pitch. His brow furrowed, his mouth set in a thin line, but his eyes empty like the windows of an abandoned house. His face, usually radiating all the heat of a furnace, was cold to the touch.

"Oliver..." Cedric heard himself whine, but he didn't feel his lips move. Choking on the sudden flare of pain in his chest, he buried his face in Oliver's chest.

"He's back!" Harry was yelling to Professor Dumbledore, who was trying to haul him away, "He's back, Voldemort's back! We couldn't leave him there..."

It took Professor Dumbledore, Professor Lowe, Titanica and Clodagh to pry the three off. Busy keeping Hermione and Cedric from tackling Oliver's body again, no one noticed when Harry was led back into the castle.

* * *

It broke even Moira's cold heart to see their grief. In Cedric's and Hermione's faces were the loss and love that they should never have had to know so young. That some never got the chance to feel at all.

Twenty-four years of anger and deep dislike blackened into hatred. Hadn't Voldemort ruined enough lives already? Moira knew he didn't have a heart, or if her mother were to be believed, a complete soul, but didn't he at least have some standards? For the first (but definitely not last) time in her life, she rued the day Tom Marvolo Riddle was born.

Only when Titanica, Clodagh, the Weasleys and Polkes had surrounded them did Moira turn her attention from the grieving widow and widower. Something was missing... It struck her only when she saw Albus discussing something with Maxime and Fudge.

Where was Harry?

A second look around showed that the fake Alastor was gone too. Rare panic shot through Moira, as well as a feeling of pyrrhic victory. She had proof now of what she had tried to tell Albus!

Not caring that she was interrupting, she asked with false calm, "Where are Harry and Alastor?"

When Albus' eyes widened, she knew he had gotten the message. "Find them, Moira," he ordered for the second time that night, "I'll be right behind you."

Nodding, she took off up to the castle. If he were still trying to keep in character, the fake Alastor would have taken Harry up to his office. That was easy, she may even be able to cut them off depending on when they left. Certainly, she was faster between them.

Once she was in the castle, Moira used the secret passage in the entrance hall to head up to the Charms corridor. Just a few more turns... She stopped in front of the door to Alastor's office, tilting her ear to listen better.

"He is back, Harry Potter, you did not conquer him- and now- I conquer you!" she heard the imposter proclaim.

Without a second thought, she shoved the door open. "Stupefy!" she shouted, making a pushing motion with her palm. A blaze of red light issued from her hand and blasted the fake Alastor into a wall.

Once she was sure he was unconscious, she hurried into the room. "Harry, did he do anything to you?" Moira asked, kneeling beside his chair. To check him closer, she put a hand to his cheek and patted his forehead.

"I'm- I'm fine," Harry answered, befuddled, "But what- who is that? That can't be Moody." He had good reason to be confused, from what Moira heard. The man was on the verge of killing him before she came in.

"It wasn't," Moira told him, gentling her tone, "It wasn't, Harry. I suspected for a long time, I knew for weeks, but I couldn't prove it until tonight. I'll tie him up, and then let's get you out of here and back to Albus..." She once again smoothed her hand over Harry's cheek, this time in affection.

"I am right here, Moira," said the very wizard she was hoping to see, "But Harry has to stay for a moment. He needs to understand who did this to him, and why." With him entered Severus, who sneered at the unconscious Alastor impersonator.

As much as she usually would have agreed, Moira now gave the headmaster a sharp look. It was times like this, like in the graveyard, that she wished she could go back to not caring. "Afterward I'm taking him to the hospital wing, understanding be damned," she warned him.

Sagely, Albus nodded. "Severus," he told the potions master, "Please fetch me the strongest truth potion you possess, and then go down to the kitchens and bring up the house elf called Winky."

Severus nodded and billowed out of the room in his usual fashion. It almost made Moira smile.

"Moira, kindly go down to Hagrid's house, where you will find a large black dog sitting in the pumpkin patch," instructed Albus, "Take the dog up to my office, tell him I will be with him shortly, then come back here." Those had to be the most confusing requests he had ever given her.

Still, she nodded. "You'll be fine," Moira murmured to Harry. For a moment she wondered if she should never say that phrase again, remembering how she had unknowingly lied to Oliver with it.

Pulled into her thoughts, she stood and strolled out the door on autopilot. With a second use of the secret passage, she was on the grounds again in no time. It didn't take very long to get to the pumpkin patch, and then it took less than a second to see the dog.

The two stared at each other a long moment. The hound was huge, his head probably even with her hip, and could very possibly be mistaken for the grim by a lesser diviner. The black fur was long and matted, the dog dreadfully thin beneath its coat. Any sympathy she may have had for it was washed away, however, by the keen intelligence in its dark eyes. This wasn't a normal dog.

Despite her wishes, she reigned herself in from using legilimency. This was now Albus' guest, it would be very rude of her to invade their mind. "Nod if you understand me," she told the dog, feeling rather foolish.

Very clearly, he bobbed his great head up and down.

"Albus would like you to be in his office for a bit," she said to the hound, "Please come with me and I'll take you there." She turned her back and began to walk more slowly than she would have liked.

The dog followed her at a quick trot. Sometimes during the journey through the grounds and castle, it would walk ahead of her like it knew the way. With the intelligence she saw in it, she wouldn't be surprised if... no, that couldn't be right. Could it possibly be an animagus?

At the gargoyle guarding the headmaster's office, Moira stated, "Blood pop." Now that she thought of it, one of those did sound good...

The stairs began to swirl up and she took them two at a time, the dog right on her heels. Once the door was within reach Moira opened it and let him in. "He'll be right here," she told the hound before closing the door again.

Her task complete, Moira raced back up to Alastor's office. This time she entered more respectfully, however, her eyes first for Harry.

The boy was white as a sheet, his glasses askew. It didn't seem that he even realized the door had opened, because he was still staring at the same spot.

Frowning, she traced his gaze to... Moira's breath hitched and eyes went wide. "Barty?" she whispered to herself, not quite believing what she was seeing.

Other than the addition of a couple of wrinkles around his eyes, Barty Crouch Junior looked almost exactly the same as when she last saw him. His dark hair was shaggy like she always admired on him and he was tall and slim with a long nose and thin, pale lips. He looked much less dead than she expected, and even more telling, he was in Alastor's clothes.

Right after she arrived, so did Severus and the house elf. "Master Barty, Master Barty, what is you doing here?" Winky asked, shocked. Then she threw herself onto Barty's chest and threw a fit, startling Moira into almost hexing her.

Taking a deep, calming breath, she moved to stand behind Harry. Only when her hands were resting comfortably on his shoulders did Moira feel secure enough to look at Barty again. That he was even alive did nothing good to her mood.

As she had expected, Albus poured veritaserum down Barty's throat. When the headmaster awakened him, his eyes lolled around for a moment. Then they turned on her and lit up with glee.

More uncomfortable than she had been in years, Moira forced herself to stand tall. Of their own accord, her eyes narrowed at him.

"Can you hear me?" Albus asked quietly.

"Yes," replied Barty, his eyes never wavering from staring at her.

"I would like you to tell us," said Albus softly, "How you came to be here. How did you escape from Azkaban?"

Thanks to the veritaserum, Barty sung like a little bird. No matter how Winky begged him to stop speaking, he kept going, detailing how his mother's last request was to switch places with him. How she had taken his form and died in Azkaban so that he could be secreted at home, controlled by his father with the imperius curse for over a decade. He had been the one to cast the Dark Mark at the World Cup and turn the Triwizard Cup and Oliver and Hermione's fake wands into portkeys to bring them all to the graveyard.

Reluctantly, he told them how he had stolen the manuscript of the dream from Moira's office. A feeling of pride swelled up in her when he said that it had taken him and Voldemort together months to decipher it. "Always the clever one, Moira," Barty commented, flicking his tongue out against his lips in that twitch she had always hated, "You would never expect anyone to think of muggle morse code. Pig Latin and Gujarati underneath were simply fail safes, weren't they?" His eyes gleamed hotly, intelligence only amplifying the madness within.

"How did you know about Hermione, Oliver and Cedric?" Moira asked, speaking directly to him for the first time.

"Well they made it bloody obvious, din't they?" Barty snickered, "Always together, always touching, fighting but never breaking up... I guessed and guessed right."

Moira felt her face darken. There was no telling how much damage Barty had done to two innocent students with just one little guess... A look down at Harry made her correct herself; three innocent students.

"How did Lord Voldemort know for sure that they were a triad?" questioned Moira, her face hard. Her nails dug into Harry' shoulders, but he showed no sign of pain that she could detect.

"Wormtail broke into the Diggorys' house last night, snuffed them out like candles," Barty grinned maniacally, "On the clock were Hermione Granger and Oliver Wood. There was also a picture, which he duplicated and brought back. It showed the patterns of their bond marks even though they hadn't formed yet."

It seemed for a moment that the interrogation was over, with silence permeating the room. Then Albus came up with a question of no importance. "What was the promised reward, Barty?" he asked softly, "Once Harry Potter was dead, and you would take your share of the treasure?"

In answer, Barty looked straight at Moira.

* * *

The day after the third task, Mr. Wood came to pick up his son's body. To say that his appearance in the Hospital Wing caused a riot would be like saying Hermione was only reasonably intelligent.

Despite her jubilation from _finally_ catching Rita Skeeter (all thanks to a phrase Harry had said a few days ago), her anger overloaded her at the sight of the tall, dark haired man. "What do you think you're doing here, Death Eater wannabe?" she snapped on sight, "Haven't you caused enough damage already?"

He did a rather admirable job of composing a shocked mask. "Me, a Death Eater?" Mr. Wood replied incredulously, "I would never, not after what they did to my son!"

Having heard the whole story from Hermione in the night, Cedric snorted. Leaning back beside Hermione on her hospital bed, he retorted, "Look what _you_ did to him. Now get out."

The Weasleys were quiet beside them, not sure what to say. Even Mrs. Weasley was silent, though she looked more nervous than anyone else.

"I'm sorry for the distress my son's death has caused yeh," Mr. Wood said in a compassionate tone, "I can tell yeh loved him. If yeh want to come to the funeral, yer welcome-"

Cedric coldly cut him off. "As his spouses, we're the ones with the legal responsibility of burying him, and you're _not_ invited," he stated, "You smacked him around, tried to kill Hermione, murdered your own son-!" He took a deep breath, trying to keep his calm. "Just... get out before I lose it."

For a moment, the whole room was frozen in shock. "How can yeh accuse me of such things?" Mr. Wood finally asked, for all the world appearing to be a brokenhearted father.

"Fine," Hermione told him loftily, "I think a test is in order." She slipped out of bed and crossed the room to stand only a few feet from Mr. Wood.

"What are you doing?" Cedric hissed, scrambling to her side, "You said-"

"I know what I said, Cedric," said Hermione sharply, "And this will prove it." To Mr. Wood, she then set a challenge: "Try to touch me." Completely sure of herself, she held out a hand.

He looked warily at the extended appendage. "That would be very inappropriate, Miss Granger," he refused.

"Fine," Hermione smiled grimly, "We'll do it the hard way." Quicker than even she had thought possible, she reached out and grasped his palm.

Where their skin touched, Mr. Wood's sizzled like frying bacon. Disturbingly, it bubbled and she felt pieces of it break off and fall to the floor. It was just like Harry had described it when he had faced Voldemort in Quirrel's body their first year.

"Let go, let go!" Mr. Wood screamed, trying to yank his hand away without touching her more. The agony present in his voice was scarily satisfying.

Only when the hand was charred to the bone did Hermione release it. "You'll never be able to use a wand again," she hissed, "Payback sucks, doesn't it?"

Mr. Wood looked around, obviously trying to find someone that would be willing to help him. In Harry and Ron's faces were black anger and in the rest, confusion. With a last, fearful look back at Hermione, he fled.

Only once Mr. Wood was gone did anyone dare to make a noise. "What was that?" asked Mrs. Weasley, aghast, "You charred his hand-!"

Harry answered quietly, "Sacrificial protection. Because Oliver died protecting Hermione from Mr. Wood, he can't touch her anymore." As he spoke he didn't look away from his friend, but his eyes glimmered with understanding rather than horror.

With a wan smile at him, Hermione crawled back into her hospital bed. She really hadn't wanted to answer that. It would have fully brought home Oliver's death and she just wasn't prepared for that yet.

As he had last night, Cedric slid under the covers beside her. The bed was tiny, but when Hermione curled up with her back to him, they fit well enough. His comforting touch was the only thing that kept her from emotionally icing over.

Though she looked at them sharply, Mrs. Weasley said nothing. There was nothing she could have said, since they were legally married.

Unexpectedly the door opened again. This time it was Lowe, who was going around the ward shutting the curtains. "You have a guest, Hermione," she smiled.

Though everyone else looked confused, Cedric seemed to understand. "Is it who I think it is?" asked Harry, most likely thinking the same thing.

"Come on in!" Lowe called once she had plunged the hospital wing into darkness.

Only the scarce candles illuminated the cloaked figures that slipped in the door. One slipped past everyone else to sit by the real Mad-Eye Moody, who had been found locked in his own trunk. The other dropped his hood with a relieved sigh.

"You wouldn't believe how stuffy these things can get," the man said mildly in a thick Welsh accent, shrugging off his cloak. In the dim light Hermione could see brass buttons gleaming on his navy uniform coat. With crisp matching slacks and tie and a starched white shirt, he could have passed for a business man. Then the light gleamed off his black hat, illuminating the gold crest and revealing it to be an officer's hat.

For the first time in over a day, Hermione felt herself crack a genuine smile. "Hello, Mr. Lowe," she greeted him softly.

While he resembled his granddaughter, his features were angular and carved instead of smooth and aristocratic. They had the same black hair and were both tall, but instead of grey eyes his were warm and brown like melted chocolate. "You must be Hermione," he returned, his lips parting in a grin that showed long, piercingly sharp canines.

"You can't be serious!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, giving Lowe a cross look, "A vampire in a sick ward, this is going too far!"

Despite her reaction, Mr. Lowe gave her a warm look. "You've been reading Rita Skeeter," he observed, much as Harry had when the Minister burst in the night before looking for Professor Dumbledore. This confrontation seemed liable to go the same way, minus news of Barty Crouch Jr. being Kissed by a dementor.

"Mrs. Weasley, please," Harry asked quietly, tugging on her sleeve.

Reluctantly, she backed down. Still, Mrs. Weasley kept an eye on the vampire bite victim as she sat down.

With a nod toward the protective matriarch, Mr. Lowe removed his hat and tucked it under his arm. His steps as he crossed the room to sit beside Hermione's bed were measured and clacked loudly on the stone floor. "My granddaughter and great-granddaughters have told me a great deal about you two," Mr. Lowe said to the married couple, "And Harry, Ron and Oliver as well."

His mention of Oliver felt like a tear straight through the flesh of Hermione's heart. "Can we please, for right now not talk about Oliver?" she requested. Stubbornly, she blinked back the tears that threatened to fall.

"Of course," Mr. Lowe agreed kindly, "I've hear that you're quite the scholar on the history of ocean liners."

The following conversation was long, and to those not intellectually or historically inclined, most likely rather tedious. But no one could deny the shine that reentered Hermione's eyes as she and Mr. Lowe shared bits of information on various maritime disasters. The story of meeting his wife on the Titanic kept her especially enthralled.

"Is that her there?" Hermione asked, tilting her head to where the woman and Moira sat by Moody.

Mr. Lowe laughed, a rich rolling sound. "No, that's my youngest daughter, Moira's mother," he replied, humor and sadness mixing in his eyes, "My wife was murdered shortly before Moira was born."

Horrified at herself, Hermione clapped a hand to her mouth. "I'm sorry, I didn't know," she whispered.

"It was in the fifties," Mr. Lowe told her, shaking his head, "I'll always miss her, but I've had time to heal. Just as I know that you both will." He smiled again, an intimidating looking gesture but meant kindly. "It'll be hard, and you'll break down several times, and for a year or so you and everyone else will think you're going mad," he said softly, "You'll think of wanting to join him, you'll be angry at the world, and you'll think you'll never pull through."

Hermione's eyes watered again and this time, a few tears trickled down her face. What he was saying was more correct than he had any right to be. It was what she was already feeling, and she had a feeling that Cedric was as well.

As if seeing right through her, Mr. Lowe continued, "But you're stronger than you think you are. You'll accept that though he's no longer on this plain, he'll always be right here." He touched his own chest right over his heart. "Never forget him. Share your memories of him and his sacrifice with your children when you have them, and he'll live forever."

Again, Hermione burst into tears. This time was different though; the tears were all-encompassing, containing every emotion she had ever felt for Oliver instead of numbness. All the frustration, the anger, the grief, the happiness and the love welled up until she felt ready to explode.

"Hermione?" asked Cedric carefully, wrapping his arms more tightly about her.

This time when she smiled up at him, it was with hope. Then Hermione turned to Mr. Lowe and began speaking softly, "I first met Oliver when I was trying to reach a book in the library my first year..."

* * *

A week later, Cedric and Hermione stood on Platform 9 3/4 in the midst of the end-of-year chaos. Around them students exchanged addresses and made plans to visit each over the summer. They simply stood in each others arms, savoring the last bit of contact they would have for at least a week.

"Kids these days," teased Lowe, "Can't keep your hands off each other." Shaking her head, she wrapped her arms briefly around them both.

As soon as she released them, they were tackled by Clodagh. Less violently, Titanica took a hold of them from the opposite side. "You'll write us, won't you?" requested the red-head, smiling.

"Of course," Cedric answered quickly, "I'd be ashamed not to." He quickly scribbled out his address with a self-inking quill and handed it to Clodagh, taking hers in return.

"We've got to go now, their parents are waiting," Lowe said, tilting her head toward the end of the platform. There stood two men, one with copper hair and the other with dark, and a blonde woman and a familiar head of burgundy.

Squinting, Hermione looked closely at them. "Isn't that the Mediwitch from the World Cup and the first task?" she asked, astounded.

"Good memory," Lowe nodded. Upon looking at her siblings again, she mused, "Then again, her hair is rather distinctive..."

Clapping a hand to Cedric's shoulder, Lowe said, "Take care, won't you?" Hampered with a large trunk, she began to walk slowly after her nieces.

"Wait!" Cedric called, "I just remembered! How did you realize that he wasn't the real Moody?"

Though she looked amused, Lowe's nose was wrinkled slightly in disgust. "He was hitting on me," she shrugged, "Alastor would never hit on me, he's my cousin." A wave of people separated them, and she was gone by the time they cleared.

There were no words for the surprise Hermione felt. Then she remembered the significance of the surnames Lowe, Pitman and Bride and felt like slapping herself. Of course, the Moodys would have married in too!

Seconds later Hermione's mother appeared through the throng, dragging her husband after her. "Hermione!" she called, "There you are, we were looking all over for you!"

On the other hand, Mr. Granger was quiet as he examined his daughter and Cedric.

Despite her parents' appearance, Hermione didn't leave his arms. She simply turned to the side to face them, giving a small smile. "Sorry for making you worry," she told them as quietly as she could with the din of the crowd, "This is Cedric Diggory, my boyfriend. Cedric, these are my mum and dad."

Though he freed his right hand to offer to his oblivious in-laws, Cedric kept one arm around Hermione's waist. "It's nice to meet you," he greeted them politely.

"Well aren't you a dear?" commented Mrs. Granger happily, "I was starting to wonder about Hermione's preferences..."

"Not that we wouldn't love and accept her either way," Mr. Granger added with a doting smile at his daughter.

Flushing pink, Hermione shook her head. "I know," she murmured, smiling.

"Are you going to visit over the summer?" questioned Mrs. Granger eagerly.

Now looking distinctly uncomfortable, Cedric's fingers briefly dug into Hermione's waist. "Actually, I was wondering if I could possibly stay some of the summer with you," he told them, struggling with his wording, "My parents died last week and I'd rather not live in the house for a while after the funeral. I need some time."

Immediately, Mrs. Granger was all over him. In the meanwhile, Mr. Granger had been looking around for someone else. "Where's this Oliver boy you write home about so much?" he asked, confused.

A pang went through Hermione's chest and her smile fell. "He died a week ago also," she answered, voice strained, "I'll tell you later."

The Grangers nodded, understanding. "We'd best get going. The office needs to be reopened," Mr. Granger said regretfully.

"I'll wear them down," Hermione assured Cedric, seeing his put-out expression, "And I'll write you either way. Let me know when the funerals are and I'll be there." She kissed him lightly on the lips, despite her parents' presence right in front of them.

Looking marginally happier, Cedric nodded. "You'd better," he teased, though his voice was tender, "Or I'll show up at your door anyway."

Reluctantly they pulled apart and Hermione followed her parents. Every few seconds she would look back at Cedric, who still stood where she had left him. Right when she was about to exit the platform she blew a kiss.

Seeing Cedric "catch" it made her day.

As she exited the wizarding world for the summer, Hermione felt strange about it. This year had irrevocably changed her at the deepest levels. She had known the greatest joy and sorrow of her life, done things that she hadn't known or believed were possible, fallen in love with the two most amazing men she had the privilege to know.

The memory of Oliver telling Voldemort to go to hell made her smile. Though he was no longer alive, he was still with Hermione and Cedric and always would be.

Somehow, she had a feeling that everything would be alright.

* * *

-EOC-

Well, there's the last chapter! Just a short epilogue, and this fic is finished.

Leave me a review and let me know how it was!

-Thrae


	20. Epilogue: Karma

Thank you so much, loyal reviewers! You deserve all the praise I can heap on you: LeonaMasha, Whisper Gypsy, dementres, Smudged, asianstotheleft and Terrence Rogue!

Everyone who has read but not reviewed, it makes me sad that you haven't given any feedback. Still thank you all for staying with me to the end!

Disclaimer: I own nothing under copyright. Furthermore, when I speak of Harold Lowe, I mean the James Cameron character. Moira Lowe, Titanica Pitman and the rest of the characters who aren't copyrighted and the Head Hunter Hex, however, are mine.

* * *

Epilogue: Karma

Growing up, Oliver Amos Diggory knew he was different.

Some people thought it was a result of being born less than a year after the war ended. Everyone he knew said that he had an old head on his shoulders. His parents' friends joked that he took after his mother too much. But no matter how illogical it seemed, Ollie felt that it was something else.

Somehow, he always knew things he had no business of knowing. When Victoire Weasley had been curious about her mother and the Triwizard Tournament, information flowed out of him that he didn't know he knew. Then there was the Ballycastle Bats vs Tutshill Tornadoes game where he had shouted himself hoarse after a certain maneuver. Not even Dad had known it was a foul until the referee called it, and Ollie couldn't explain how he knew.

The reactions he instinctively had to some people were the most puzzling to him. When he met Viktor Krum, his first words were, "Godric's bones, you've gotten old!" Of course, that had earned him a stern look from Mum.

Having siblings was a blast for Ollie, unlike some of his friends. "How do you deal with having so many?" his friend Hugo Weasley had asked incredulously one summer day that they had been asked to babysit. He only had one younger brother named Xavier.

"How did your dad deal with it?" Ollie had joked in response, referring to Uncle Ron's multitude of siblings. It was far better than the real response: "I love it. I don't know when or how, but I remember feeling so lonely it hurt, and now I don't." There were a lot of things he thought but chose not to share.

His parents knew there was something strange too. It was all in how his mother's intelligent brown eyes would linger on him in thought, or how his father (correctly) assumed that he knew something. They loved him all the same though.

When he turned eleven he started having the dreams. Some were innocent. Others had him screaming in his sleep.

The dreams he had most often were of younger versions of his parents and another boy. They were mostly set in a castle, though a couple were in his own house and the Burrow, strangely enough. The other boy was remarkably familiar, but he couldn't figure out how. Eventually, after he couldn't find any information on the boy, Ollie put the mystery to the back of his mind.

Then he arrived at Hogwarts. Right in the middle of the entryway to the great hall he stopped dead. "I remember this," he had said to himself. Rather than be afraid of the sorting, he was eager; he knew for sure where he would go.

"Well, well!" had mused the ancient, scorched and scarred hat in his ear, "You're much different from my usual fare, Oliver. His name was Oliver as well, and a fine young man he was."

'Who?' Ollie had thought curiously.

"Why, the man you dream of!" the hat had replied, "Those dreams show me exactly where to place you, though I would have put you there anyways... GRYFFINDOR!"

The unusual way he had of knowing things didn't stop there. Inside the school, Ollie seemed to know exactly where everything was. That included a particular broom cupboard he used to hide from the weird fan girls he somehow accumulated by Halloween.

While at Hogwarts, the dreams came more and more frequently and vividly. They didn't have any effect on his capabilities, so Ollie never bothered to do anything about them. If anything, they provided a great distraction from waking life when he needed.

During his second year he had gotten the spot as Gryffindor's first string Keeper, fulfilling a dream he'd had since before he remembered. The team captain had compared him to Oliver Wood in praise, a name that somehow rang a bell in him. After a grueling practice however, he forgot all about it.

That year also hosted Athena Longbottom and Hugo, which was a relief to Ollie. Most of his first year had been spent being either worshiped or shied away from. It left him rather lonely.

Not that he was the only one he knew at Hogwarts his first year. The truth was rather far from it, actually. While Victoire was in the same year and house, Teddy Lupin and Lyubov Krum were a year ahead in Ravenclaw and Slytherin respectively.

In third year things got a little awkward for Ollie, as he had grown a monster crush on Lyubov that summer. Plus her mother was his new Divination teacher, as old Trelawney had retired. Not that she would even hear of dating him; if anything, she used her position as a Beater to continuously try to smash his skull. It only left him more enamored.

That year brought in Fred Weasley, Uncle George's son, as well as James Potter and Uncle Bill and Aunt Fleur's second daughter Dominique. To say the least, that year was the most chaotic yet. Fred seemed determined to out-prank his father and deceased uncle of the same name, quite an ambition.

By Ollie's fourth year, all the family friends had at least one child at Hogwarts. Uncle Percy's daughter Molly was just like him, a walking rule book, while Aunt Titanica and Uncle Theo's daughter Britannia Nott was just as much of a mischief maker as Fred. When Ollie realized that, he had a feeling they would cause the apocalypse when they got married. Not if, when. On the other hand Uncle Lee and Aunt Clodagh's daughter Josephine Jordan appreciated pranks but was more of a stand-up comedian.

Ollie's only sister Charys came in that year as well. While he had been hoping she would be in Gryffindor, it wasn't too bad to lose her to Hufflepuff. That was Dad's old house, after all. Most of the year she ate at the Gryffindor table, as the majority of the quidditch maniacs had somehow ended up there. By Christmas, her knowledge of historical sports trivia had become infamous.

Fifth year was the most eventful by far, however. It was the year Ollie made quidditch captain and prefect, which busied him to the point of insanity. That was without even thinking looking after the younger kids. Hugo's brother Xavier had made it into Gryffindor that year, while Albus Potter became a Slytherin.

Between rounds, planning strategies for the pitch and studying for the O.W.L.'s, it was no wonder he was exhausted. He even stopped trying to get Lyubov's attention.

For a while Ollie had managed to forget about his curiosity where the boy from his dreams was concerned. A Divination class near the end of the year changed that.

"Today, we'll be looking at the past," Professor Krum had announced, to a class-wide groan. With a smirk, she added, "No, not more history. You got done with that unit in your third year. I mean that we're investigating Past-Sight. Does anyone have an idea what I mean by that?"

One hand rose. "You mean like regular divination but looking into the past and not the future?" asked Victoire.

"Precisely," replied Professor Krum approvingly, "It's much the same process, but this takes more research and less patience. More often, someone is able to See the past when they have an incarnation who faced a particularly hard life or gruesome death, or if that life was very recent. Now get out your preferred method of divination and get cracking."

Out of the black leather ottoman he sat on, Ollie withdrew a crystal ball. Unfortunately dreaming wasn't seen as a reliable enough method for class, so he had to make due. Once he set it down on the table in front of him, he leaned his chin on the heel of his hand and stared into the foggy crystal.

He must have managed to zone out properly if such a thing was possible, because he was seeing something. The image slowly unclouded until it became as clear as if he were watching it on a muggle television. Mystified, Ollie watched one of the strangest scenes he could imagine play out.

There was a graveyard, and jets of red light- stunning spells- were being fired everywhere. Two people were running through the fray, ducked down to make themselves less of a target. They were running toward... Uncle Harry and Professor Krum? There was a trophy cup sitting between them and they looked frantic, waving at the running pair to hurry.

When Ollie looked closer, he swore he recognized the running girl. It looked too much like Mum for it to be a coincidence. Did that mean that the boy was Dad? 'No,' he corrected himself, frowning, 'He has lighter hair, and this boy is too tall...'

A jet of neon green light barely missed the pair. Ollie gaped; was that the killing curse? He couldn't think of another spell that color.

Not even later, a second green curse was coming at Mum from the back. She hadn't seen it, she was still running in a straight line and it was still headed for her back... The unknown boy saw it though; his eyes widened and he threw himself behind her.

Lime green momentarily blinded Ollie. On instinct he raised his arm to shield his eyes and closed them. When he lowered it, the crystal ball was cloudy again.

When he looked around, the whole class was staring at him. Victoire had even turned her attention from her cartomancy spread. Several of their classmates were whispering to each other, no doubt about him, from their furtive glances.

"You saw something," observed Professor Krum, dropping onto an ottoman, "Tell me."

Leaving nothing out that he could remember, Ollie did. As he said more and more, he saw her eyes widen more and more until they looked ready to pop out of her face.

Even paler than usual, Professor Krum told him, "That was indeed a vision of the past. I of all people would know." She had a grim set to her mouth even as she examined Ollie carefully.

"_Was_ that you?" he asked, not sure if he wanted to know.

"It was," confirmed Professor Krum, to a multitude of whispers, "What you saw was the tragedy at the end of the third task of the most recent Triwizard Tournament. You'd do best to ask your parents about it. It's not my story to tell." To the class at large, she announced, "See, it's not too hard. Keep trying, I know you can do it."

Once Professor Krum was out of hearing range, Victoire leaned over the table to hiss, "What was that all about?"

Similarly confused, Ollie could only shrug. Unless he was going mad or it was connected to his dreams, he had as much of a clue as she did.

That summer, Ollie took Professor Krum's advice. "Mum, can you tell me about what happened in the graveyard during the Triwizard Tournament?" he asked bluntly.

It was rather amusing when she spewed lemonade all over Dad in surprise. "Sorry love," she apologized. To Ollie, she questioned, "Where did you learn about that? I never said anything." With a flick of her wrist she cleaned up the mess she had made of Dad, though her eyes stayed on Ollie.

Meanwhile, Dad's eyes betrayed him. Anyone who had said that the eyes were the portals to the soul must have known a person like him. At the mere mention of the Triwizard Tournament there was a glimmer of sadness drenched in guilt.

"In Divination we were looking into the past and I Saw a graveyard," Ollie told his mum, watching with fascination as her expression went from curiosity to shock, "You and a boy were running through it toward Uncle Harry and Professor Krum and the boy jumped in front of a spell for you. Professor Krum said it was the graveyard tragedy during the tournament."

Mum and Dad traded glances. "By any chance have you... Seen... anything else?" asked Dad delicately.

"I've had dreams about that boy," Ollie answered more quietly, "I've seen practically his whole life while he was a kid and at Hogwarts, but never anything after. Why, did you know him?" The last thing he wanted was one of his younger siblings to hear this and tell anyone. Not that Remus would, but sometimes Crispin couldn't keep his mouth shut.

"Could you get the picture, love?" requested Mum to Dad. When he left to retrieve it, she replied to Ollie's question, "Yes, we both did." Her eyes were sad even though she was smiling.

Confused, Ollie tilted his head to the side. "What happened to him after the graveyard?" he asked.

"You Saw what happened to him," Mum told him calmly, "He died there protecting me. This was back when I was fifteen and he and your father were seventeen. Even back then Professor Krum was a teacher, but that was before she was married. She was Professor Lowe to us. There was a scheme by Lord Voldemort to regain his body, and for that he needed Harry's blood. So the trophy was turned into a portkey, but that boy, Oliver, had taken your dad's place in the third task and grabbed the cup at the same time in a tie."

"Wait... Oliver?" asked Ollie, thinking back, "As in... Oliver Wood?" He remembered the name from all the times they had been compared, mainly on the pitch. It was the highest of compliments for a Gryffindor Keeper and captain.

Mum nodded, taking a sip of her lemonade. This time, she didn't spit it out.

"You were named for him," Dad informed him, sliding back into his seat with a picture frame in his hand, "He was one of the most brave men I've ever had the opportunity to know. If you'll believe it, he told Voldemort to go to hell in that graveyard." He placed the photograph in the middle of the table facing Ollie.

It was a wizarding photo, but that could only be told from the subjects' chests moving. They were asleep, seemingly on a summer night from how the sheet was tangled around their legs and Mum was wearing only a bra and jeans. She was sleeping between Dad and Oliver Wood, who were in proper pajamas and holding her securely between them. On each of them were white outlines of a braided pattern. For Mum that was across her hips, while Dad's was around his wrist and Oliver's was just visible under his shirt sleeve on his bicep.

"You see those marks right there?" Dad pointed them out, his index finger tapping the three spots, "That was why Voldemort took your mother and had been planning to take me and Oliver, but with Oliver taking my place..." He trailed off, shaking his head slowly.

"We were a triad," Mum explained, "They're constantly stalked by Dark magic practitioners because their bond amps up their magic and Voldemort was no exception. He wanted us on his side, but Oliver told him to go to hell. His father killed him that night, though he was aiming for me.

"It was only because Professor Lowe- to you, Professor Krum- was there that we were able to escape in the first place, since we were tied up. It was ironic, considering that it was her own father she was working against."

That was something Ollie hadn't known about his Divination teacher. "Wait, hold it, what?" he asked, wondering if he had heard wrong.

"You got it right," Dad added, eyes glimmering mischievously, "She only admitted after her mother's death in the Final Battle that she was Voldemort's daughter. Before he became a snake-like monster, obviously. Explains a lot, doesn't it?"

Mum elbowed Dad sharply. "Don't laugh too much about it," she warned him, "She's wouldn't hesitate to bash you in the head for making fun of her parentage. Besides, we owe her our lives."

"Touche," Dad returned, holding his hands up in surrender.

That whole conversation answered more questions than Ollie knew he had. It explained a good deal of his dreams and gave him the relief of knowing he wasn't crazy. "But why do I have these dreams?" he asked, half-way talking to himself.

"You've never been normal," Mum told him, though her smile warmed the otherwise cool words, "We always had a joke that you were Confucius in a past life, you've always seemed so grown up. But perhaps we were right about everything except the name. It would certainly fit if in a past life you were our Oliver."

Looking down at the man sleeping beside Mum in the picture, Ollie had a gut feeling that they were right. From everything that he had ever heard and every photo he had ever seen, they had a resemblance that went beyond the physical. It even went beyond the magical and the metaphysical.

That conversation helped seal wounds that he didn't know he had. The confusion that he had been facing him through his whole life was over. While the part that had been Oliver Wood would always influence him, he was Oliver Amos Diggory now.

Perhaps it was chance that he was born to Hermione and Cedric Diggory. Maybe it was fate. Ollie liked to think that it was karma. In the dreams he had had of Oliver's past, he had seen a boy who constantly got the short end of the stick but rose above his circumstances to the very end. Now he had looks, talent, smarts, and most importantly, a loving family who would always be there for him.

That summer, Ollie was able to call his life complete. After two years of constantly badgering her, Lyubov Krum finally agreed to be his girlfriend.

* * *

-THE END-

Oh my... This fic has been my baby for nearly two months, and now suddenly it's all grown up! Err, I mean, finished.

If anyone is confused, brief explanation for some comments and pairings:

Moira was an unprecedented and unapologetic cradle robber. She and Krum ended up together, they're Lyubov's parents.

Crispin and Remus are Hermione and Cedric's third and fourth children.

Otherwise, it went like this, for anyone interested: Luna x Ron, Harry x Ginny, Percy x Audrey, Bill x Fleur, George x Angelina, Hannah Abbott x Neville, Titanica x Theodore Nott and Clodagh x Lee Jordan.

Yes, that was the same broom cupboard as the one Oliver, Cedric and Hermione got together in, as well as when Oliver knocked Cedric out and stole his identity for the third task. I thought it would round out the cycle quite nicely.

Leave me a review and let me know how the whole anthology was!

-Thrae


	21. Alternate Ending Part 1

Here's an alternate (happy) ending for all of you who cried because Oliver died. Thank you so much for reading!

**Note: This diverges from the timeline right after chapter 18 and disregards chapter 19 and the epilogue.**

Disclaimer: I own nothing under copyright. See the epilogue for the full disclaimer.

* * *

**Alternate Ending Part 1**

Even before Oliver's sight returned, he heard wild cheering and yelling. 'I'm not dead,' he realized with a start as his eyes cleared. Underneath him was the familiar grass of the school quidditch pitch and his hands were still on Hermione's back, but he had landed to her side.

Now that he was back at the beginning of the maze and safe, everything began to piece itself together in his mind. He wasn't dead because he had been touching Hermione when she touched the portkey and it had brought him along for the ride. If they had been a few seconds slower, chances were that he would be dead right then.

Before he could even begin to process the thought, he was being tackled into rolling over by a heavy body. "You idiot!" Cedric shouted, his face red with fury, "You idiot, I thought you were smarter than to touch the bloody cup! You could have died! You nearly did die!" His voice was angry and more than a little hysterical, but his grey eyes showed the truth: he was terrified out of his mind.

The realization soothed any hurt or frustration that Oliver normally would have felt. "But I didn't," he reminded his husband, smoothing his fingertips over the flushed cheek bones, "It would take more than... that... to kill me." He had originally going for light hearted, but the reminder of his father's ultimate betrayal made that impossible.

"Shut up," Cedric snarled. Instead of doing anything drastic however, he pulled Oliver up by his stolen shirt and captured his lips in a hard kiss.

It was perfect. Sloppy, wet from the rain that had started to crash down and full of mutual fear and relief and love. Oliver couldn't help grinning like a loon when it came to him. By Merlin, he was in love!

The kiss broke and for the few seconds that his lips were free, he laughed with elation. Then he was being kissed just as fiercely by Hermione- his wife. The woman he was completely mad for and bound to for life. Everything was, in that moment, perfect.

"I love yeh," Oliver told her as soon as he came up to breathe, "I love yeh both so much. And by Merlin, marryin' yeh two was the best thing to ever happen to me." He looked to Cedric, making sure he was hearing this.

The Hufflepuff's angry frown abated until he merely looked serious. "Best thing to happen to me," he agreed.

"Same," Hermione mumbled, nuzzling Oliver's neck as she took hold of Cedric's hand. When she looked up though, she warned her fellow Gryffindor, "This doesn't mean I'm not angry at you anymore. That was stupid and reckless of you and you came this close to dying in there! But since you didn't, I think I can forgive you." She smiled slightly, seeming worn and tired more than anything.

Oliver sobered, but the corners of his lips were still tilted up. He could deal with that.

With a roar, Clodagh tackled them all right before Ron and Ginny joined the fray, the latter two mainly demanding answers of Hermione. Less enthusiastically but still grinning widely, Titanica knelt and gathered them each up in turn for hugs. Professor Lowe applauded a few feet away, pride shining in her usually cold grey eyes.

Oliver was so wrapped up in the revelry going on around him- and the shock of being alive- that he didn't notice anything was wrong until Hermione frowned. "What is it?" he asked, quirking a brow.

"Where's Harry?" she called, looking around for him.

When Oliver searched the area visually, he realized he wasn't there. Neither was Moody, or whoever was pretending to be Moody. It was like a bucket of ice water had been poured over him at the realization.

From the look of panic that flitted across Professor Lowe's face, she had reached the same conclusion. Ignoring civilities, she walked over and began harassing Professor Dumbledore about it. Not even a moment later she ran off, the headmaster and Snape following rapidly and leaving Professor McGonagall to take care of things down here.

Though he was still worried about Harry, Oliver allowed himself to relax a little. If anyone could be trusted to find Harry, it would be Professors Dumbledore and Lowe.

"Let's go," Cedric suggested, "I'd like some peace, I think." His lips were curled up a little, but the expression was strained.

The agreement was unspoken as Hermione, Cedric an Oliver made their excuses. Not a minute later they realized that it was going to be difficult to get away, however. Everyone was trying to congratulate Cedric or ask what the hell happened.

Quickly Hermione used a few Notice Me Not charms, allowing them to slide through the crowds much more easily now. They held hands the whole way to the Room of Requirement. Oliver understood instinctively; they all needed to be sure the others were really there, that this wasn't just a hopeful delusion. He had no issues with this.

In the end, they all disrobed and just laid in the bed curled up together. The silence was full of emotion but Oliver absorbed it like a sponge as he curled around Hermione with his back to Cedric's chest. He was here and safe with his spouses. Everything was right in the world.

The week between the ill-fated Third Task and the Leaving Feast seemed to go by faster than he could say "Hogwarts." Of course, it slowed down whenever Oliver was cornered and questioned about the Third Task, but that didn't really count. Not when one of the things he dreaded most was coming up: leaving forever.

During the Leaving Feast however, he got a surprise. During the end of year speech, Professor Dumbledore explained what really happened during the Third Task. From where he sat at the Gryffindor table between Cedric and Hermione, Oliver listened with rapt attention.

"The end of another year," Professor Dumbledore mused, before projecting his voice more, "There is much that I would like to say to you tonight, but before anything, I feel that we need to give thanks that four innocent lives were spared. I speak of Harry Potter, and Hermione, Cedric and Oliver Diggory." He looked to the Gryffindor table and in the candlelight, his blue eyes sparkled a little brighter.

Oliver was caught between grinning goofily and shrinking down in his seat. They had sent the marriage certificate back to the Ministry the day after the Third Task. Legally they were Oliver Diggory, Hermione Diggory, and Cedric Diggory now.

Despite the whispering of the crowd, Professor Dumbledore continued, "The Ministry of Magic does not wish me to tell you this. It is possible that some of your parents will be horrified that I have done so - either because they will not believe, or because they think I should not tell you, young as you are. It is my belief, however, that the truth is generally preferable to lies: Lord Voldemort is back."

There was practically an uproar at the headmaster's words. Several students flinched at the name, others swore Professor Dumbledore was off his rocker, and still others just stared in shock. Only Harry, Ron and the Diggorys stayed quiet, all grim faced.

Once the talking had died down, Professor Dumbledore continued, "It is by chance, luck and courage in the face of almost certain doom that Messrs. Diggory and Potter, and Mrs. Diggory escaped. For the kind of honor that few have shown in facing Lord Voldemort, I honor them."

This time Oliver felt his neck turn Gryffindor red as cups almost all over the hall were raised. Only Slytherin was unmoved, but who bloody cared about them? Hermione's eyes were shining in wonder and Cedric was rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, while Harry bore a rather solemn expression.

Professor Dumbledore then made a speech about how the Triwizard Tournament was to further ties of magical understanding and all that. There was a piece that struck Oliver as almost prophetic though: "Every guest in this Hall will be welcomed back here at any time, should they wish to come. I say to you all, once again - in the light of Lord Voldemort's return, we are only as strong as we are united, as weak as we are divided. Lord Voldemorts gift for spreading discord and enmity is very great. We can fight it only by showing an equally strong bond of friendship and trust. Differences of habit and language are nothing at all if our aims are identical and our hearts are open.

"It is my belief- and never have I so hoped that I am mistaken - that we are all facing dark and difficult times. Some of you in this Hall have already suffered directly at the hands of Lord Voldemort. Many of your families have been torn asunder. A week ago, four students were nearly taken from our midst. When you are tasked to make a choice between what is right and what is easy, remember this."

The headmaster then gave house points: fifty for Harry and fifty for Oliver (his neck turned bright red again) due to their courage under fire, and another fifty to Cedric for his calm determination and willingness to do what he needed to do. Even though he knew it would spell out his death. Of course, Gryffindor won the House Cup for the fourth year in a row to the ire of Slytherin and Ravenclaw.

There had been no big ceremony in which the Triwizard Cup and winnings had been presented. The events of that night, and the losses that had been close to being suffered, were too bitter for that. Instead Harry and Cedric had convinced Fudge to simply give them the winnings and let it be. Cedric decided that he didn't want the money and, with Harry, gave his portion to the Weasley twins for their joke shop. He kept the Cup though.

On the train nothing interesting happened- besides Oliver, Cedric, Hermione, Ron, Harry, Fred and George hexing Malfoy and his cronies with ugly results. The tentacles that the ferret grew on his face were especially interesting. Oliver was rather fond of the purple tinted skin one of the cronies had though, especially since it had the texture of corn flakes.

Then the train stopped and everyone deboarded. Leaving Malfoy and his cronies unconscious in the corridor, Oliver and Cedric hauled their and Hermione's trunks off the train. "Your parents are meeting you, right?" asked the Hufflepuff as he stacked his trunk onto their husband's. Hermione's went onto a second trolley that Cedric commandeered.

"Right," she confirmed, biting her lip. Obviously she was nervous about this meeting. Oliver couldn't blame her.

"It'll be fine, sparrow," Oliver assured her, despite the nervous trembling of his hands on the trolley handle, "I'm sure they'll be reasonable about this. We don't have to mention anythin' about marriage." They had only told Harry and Ron because of Dumbledore's speech.

With a weak smile at him, Hermione took a deep calming breath. "Here goes nothing," Oliver swore he heard her mutter before she led the way through the barrier to the muggle world.

Behind her, Oliver and Cedric exchanged looks. In an instant, they had come to a silent consensus: to the Grangers, they were simply Hermione's boyfriends. There was no need to alarm or alienate their clueless in-laws.

One at a time they then walked through the barrier. It wasn't difficult to find Hermione again, even with the crowd obscuring her; the bond led the way. By following the mental tugging on it, they found her embracing a man that seemed to be her father while a woman looked on. Those must have been her parents, as she had her mother's curls and face shape while she seemed to have inherited her father's coloring.

"Mum, Dad, I have a couple of people to introduce you to," Hermione told them, pulling back from her father's arms. Smiling a little nervously, she gestured to Oliver then Cedric as she introduced them, "This is Oliver and this is Cedric, um, my... boyfriends. Oliver, Cedric, these are my parents."

The Grangers quickly looked at each other, their daughter, the boys behind her, and back to each other. "Boyfriends, as in plural?" Mr. Granger inquired. He seemed more than a little bemused at the concept and Mrs. Granger appeared a little dazed.

Obviously figuring that a little charm was in order, Cedric stepped forward. "Yes sir," he clarified with a smile, "Your daughter is dating us both and we couldn't be more fortunate. She's a wonderful and very unique person." He held out a hand to Mr. Granger.

Still very nervous, Oliver took Mrs. Granger's offered hand and shook it. Her pleasant smile reminded him of Hermione's, calming him immensely. When he and Cedric circled each other and Oliver wrung hands with Mr. Granger, some of the intimidation faded away. Not only did Hermione have her father's eyes, but it didn't hurt that Oliver was nearly half a foot taller than him.

"It's great to meet yeh," the former Gryffindor told them both, giving them his crooked grin.

This time when the Grangers looked at each other, Hermione rolling her eyes in the meanwhile, they seemed to be having a silent conversation. There were a few gestures that let Oliver guess as to the subject (he and Cedric, from the jabbing motion Mr. Granger made with his head toward them) but not much more could be discerned.

Nervously, Oliver tapped his heel on the tile floor. Now that he was actually meeting them, the Grangers weren't intimidating so much as the possibility of them not approving of him and Cedric. He genuinely wanted Hermione's parents to like them.

Not quite a minute after it started, the silent conference ended. "Would you like to come to lunch with us?" asked Mrs. Granger politely, "I think I would like to meet your parents as well." Her blue eyes roved the station, obviously looking for anyone who resembled Cedric or Oliver.

A shadow passed over Cedric's face. It was an unintended reminder that his parents were no longer with him.

"Lunch would be nice, Mrs. Granger, but, err, you'll have to settle for just us," Oliver explained awkwardly, reaching over to squeeze Cedric's shoulder in support, "His parents passed last week and I... no longer live at home, for very good reasons." He grimaced at his own reminder, wondering what he was going to do now. While he didn't live with his father anymore (the hell he would ever go back there) he didn't exactly have his own place yet.

"I'm so sorry," Mrs. Granger said, sympathy in her voice. Mr. Granger was frowning, seemingly wondering what those "Very good reasons," were, but said nothing.

"How about that sandwich place a few blocks away?" suggested Hermione brightly, saving the day, "They seemed to have plenty of variety when I poked my nose in there at the beginning of the year." She took Cedric and Oliver's hands, giving each a reassuring squeeze.

"That sounds perfect," Mr. Granger agreed. Pointedly he took the cart with Hermione's trunk on it and began to steer it to the exit. Mrs. Granger followed with an exasperated sigh.

Grinning down at Hermione and over at Cedric, Oliver took even himself by surprise. He led the way after his oblivious in-laws with a loud laugh, leaving Cedric to pull the trolley along behind them. It would all work out, he was sure of it.

That summer, Oliver and Cedric stayed at the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. At first it was a little awkward, as they still felt bad about threatening Sirius, but after a few weeks three were often seen together in the library or one of the parlors. Of course, that was when the pair had time.

Cedric buried his parents in a little church yard right outside Ottery St. Catchpole the first week of the summer, his spouses right beside him for support. After that he spent a great deal of time with the twins, buying certain controlled substances for their inventions under the terms that he would help work on them. By the time Hermione got there, he was a trusted business partner and some of their crazy humor had rubbed off on him.

Meanwhile, Oliver trained with the other reserves of Puddlemere United every second day. The initial meet-the-team had been a little awkward though...

* * *

_"Coach?" called Oliver, poking his head into the office, "Oliver Wood in." It felt strange to use his birth name again, he had been getting so used to Diggory._

_"Ah, there you are," the older man grinned, getting up from behind his cluttered desk, "Right on time Wood, the others should be here right about now." He clapped Oliver on the back as he led the way onto the pitch._

_"I need the name on the back of my jersey changed," Oliver told his new coach, his stomach roiling with nerves. He wondered how his new team would take his sexuality, not to mention his marital status. Hopefully not too badly..._

_The coach quirked a brow at him. "Not running from an ex, are you?" he joked._

_"No, actually, I got married," Oliver explained in a low voice as they entered the pitch. The rest of the team was waiting in the middle of the pitch, five men and a woman standing about in casual clothing laughing and joking. It made him a little nauseous with nerves._

_"What's your new name?" asked the coach expectantly._

_"Diggory," Oliver replied._

_Though he was obviously dying to ask, the coach didn't. Instead, he blew a whistle so loudly that it made Oliver' ears ring._

_The group in the middle of the pitch turned to look at them immediately. "Is that the newbie?" called one of the guys in the back of the group._

_"The newbie's name is Oliver Diggory, Kent!" barked the coach, "Remember it!"_

_"Diggory? I thought we were getting Wood," said another, a large burly man with no hair on top of his head but a luxurious red beard._

_Oliver put a hand through his hair in a nervous gesture. "I got married a couple of weeks ago," he spoke up for himself, glad to see that there was barely a tremble in his voice._

_"Congratulations!"_

_"Told you so!"_

_"The Quibbler was right?!"_

_The coach's voice rose above everyone else's as he ordered, "Don't get him too far wasted this time, eh?" He then patted Oliver on the shoulder and turned around, only to stop where he was._

_Curious and a little overwhelmed, Oliver looked over his shoulder. He grinned when he saw who it was, turning the whole way around to wave. Suddenly, all nervousness within him died._

_Cedric was jogging across the field, a rucksack slung over his shoulder. The hand that wasn't clutching the bag rose up and waved in greeting. The moment he was within five feet, he swung the old leather bag from his shoulder and walked the rest of the way to hand it to Oliver. "You forgot this," he grinned._

_Taking his forgotten luggage, Oliver slapped his own forehead. "Way to go, Ollie boy," he muttered to himself, before asking his husband hypothetically, "What would I do without yeh?"_

_"Be stuck wherever they're getting you absolutely plastered and at the mercy of strangers," Cedric answered cheerfully, "The lighter in the front pocket is a portkey. It'll bring you home at one in the morning. Until then, have fun and remember that we're out of hangover potion!" He then patted Oliver on the shoulder and turned around to leave._

_"Not going to wish him luck?" teased the only woman on the team._

_Cedric turned back to look at the speaker, hands in his pockets and an easy smile on his face. "Well, no," he replied bluntly, "That would imply that I think he needs luck to succeed, and I have a little more faith in him than that." Leaving the team stunned, and Oliver very flattered, he left the pitch with a wink._

_There was silence for a moment, before a chorus of, "Ooohhh!" swept through the rest of the team. When Oliver turned back around to look at them, he saw with alarm that they were all wearing rather creepy grins. Had they all gone mad?_

_For the first time, Oliver rather wished he hadn't been recruited. "Err, what?" he asked awkwardly._

_"You married one of the Triwizard Champions?" asked the bearded man in awe._

_A little lost, Oliver nodded. Little did he know, question and answer time had begun and he would never again have privacy around the Puddlemere United Reserve Team._

* * *

Sure enough, at one in the morning Oliver reappeared in the most noble and filthy House of Black. Thankfully Cedric had the foresight to know that there would be copious amounts of vomiting after that particular journey and had the portkey set him down in the second floor bathroom. Swearing to never again let Sophia talk him into a drinking contest, Oliver rinsed his mouth out afterward and crawled across the hall. It was pretty much impossible for him to get up into the bed, so he ended up sleeping on the floor with a cloak as a makeshift blanket.

And just as Oliver had been told, there was no hangover potion in the morning. It could only have been intentional, as Sirius made sure the cabinets were well stocked with it usually. For a Hufflepuff, it seemed that Cedric had a rather wide sadistic streak.

When Hermione was able to come that summer, the triad began experimenting with their bond. What they came up with was astounding. As time passed they could feel each others' emotions and locations with increasing accuracy and range until it seemed almost like they were reading each others' thoughts. It could get right annoying sometimes, though at others... it came in very useful at others.

After some research they (or rather, Hermione with some help from Cedric) discovered that triads were formed most often during and directly after periods of conflict- that they were a force of significant martial power. Reading between the lines, they deduced that a bonded group could lend focus and even pure magic to each other. Thus, the reports of things that should be well beyond the magical ability of a single person such as the shield charm that deflected a Cruciatus curse and the witch that blew a whole house to bits with a single Reductor curse.

To say that it brought a few ideas into their heads would be an understatement. The intellectuals that they were at heart, Cedric and Hermione rapidly descended into a bunch of technical jargon that Oliver had never paid much attention to in classes. Only when they asked for his opinion on testing that side of their bond did he come back around and agree with whatever they had come up with.

At first they were on an impasse, as they didn't know whether the Trace was still on Hermione or if their magic all mixing together had confused or nullified it. Then there were the triplet issues of when, where and what they would practice. The only thing they had figured out was that Oliver was the magical "center" of their bond so to speak, the one that evened them out and acted as somewhat of a conductor.

In the end, all questions were answered at the very end of the summer.

* * *

_Everyone was running around like headless chickens trying to get everything together for the journey to school and tempers were rapidly fraying. Mrs. Weasley was shouting over the portrait of Mrs. Black, who everyone had stopped attempting to quiet. The ruckus in the house would only wake her up again._

_Right as everyone seemed to be ready and assembled at the front door, Mrs. Black made the mistake that solved many, many conundrums: she started flirting with Cedric. Again. Over the last few months she had gained a soft spot for him that rapidly developed into a monstrous crush, even to the point of being quiet when he asked._

_Oliver hated it. When she got there, Hermione came to hate it too. They never said anything, but slowly their patience waned._

_"Mrs. Black, could you please stop insulting everyone?" requested Cedric tiredly. He was leaning on the wall with that look on his face that signalled an oncoming headache, having slept very little the previous night._

_"For you, yes," Mrs. Black agreed very amiably._

_Very visibly, Hermione scowled at the painting and Oliver could feel his eyes narrowing. Could the damned painting not take a hint?_

_Then Mrs. Black winked at Cedric and all hell broke loose. Before anyone could even blink, there was a bright flash of light and a loud bang from inside the corridor, inciting various yells and screams from the occupants. Unnoticed to anyone outside of the triad, a few thumps signaled objects falling onto the floor._

_As it was, Oliver had only winced and covered his eyes. He could feel a little of his magic gone, and sensed some of Cedric's and a great deal of Hermione's around them like magical fallout._

_"What in Merlin's name was that?" demanded Sirius, brandishing his wand dangerously._

_It didn't take long for Oliver to realize what had happened. All it took was looking in front of him and seeing the burn marks on the wall where the portrait of Mrs. Black had hung for so many years. When he looked at the floor, he grinned at the pieces of charred canvas and gilt frame that littered the area. Served her right for flirting with his husband!_

_"You really know how to lose your temper, don't you?" asked Cedric with obvious relief, "Thanks, I was beginning to get a little frightened of her."_

_Hermione's eyes were glittering with satisfaction as she lowered her hand. "It was my pleasure," she replied in a perfectly pleasant tone that didn't cover up how much she meant her words._

_If Oliver weren't her bondmate, he would have been intimidated. As it was, he found Hermione's display of power and jealousy very... arousing. From the gleam in Cedric's eyes and the wicked smirk that had settled onto his lips, he did as well._

_Meanwhile, the rest of the group was almost silent. They stared at either the wall, Hermione or the remains of the portrait._

_"If you weren't already taken, I'd ask you to marry me," Sirius said, awestruck. It was no secret that he had been trying to find a way to get rid of his mother's painting for ages now._

_Laughing, Hermione shook her head. "And if I weren't, I might accept," she replied good-naturedly, "As it is, I am and I'm very happy with them."_

* * *

That year, Oliver found that he missed Hogwarts more than he had ever thought. It probably had a little something to do with two special people who were still there, he realized not quite a week into September. Remembering that they wouldn't be back until the winter holidays started only made him more lonely.

From their letters, things had gotten bad thanks to the toad of a woman that the Ministry had foisted onto them. She wasn't letting them use spells at all and had put Harry in a week of detention for saying that Voldemort was back. The very thoughts made Oliver's teeth grind with frustration.

The bond told him a great deal about Hermione and Cedric's emotional (and sometimes physical) states, but he practically lived for their Hogsmeade visits. Those were the only times that they could see each other, and they took advantage of the precious few hours together unashamedly. It became a point of teasing among the Reserves that Oliver was always a ball of sunshine after seeing Cedric. The reminders just made him smile brighter.

It never turned into anything more heated than snogging through those long months; they had higher standards than that. Instead, they mainly walked around the sleepy little village or sat in the Three Broomsticks. A couple of times they visited that second hand store where Oliver had originally found the locket that he had altered and given Hermione for Christmas, but usually left after just browsing.

The meeting at the Hog's Head had gone astoundingly well, once they got past the initial curiosity of the defense group's possible members. Some of the rumors that had been confirmed, Oliver was especially surprised at. Killing a basilisk with the sword of Godric Gryffindor was no laughing feat in general, but hearing that Harry had done it when he was twelve... That was an eye opener and no mistake.

As he wasn't a student and would not be able to make it to meetings, Oliver wasn't officially a member of the fledgeling association. At first he had rued that, wishing he could help. The moves that Umbridge was making were ridiculous, and that she was good friends with Mr. Wood was the icing on the cake.

Thankfully, Mr. Wood had the good sense to not come looking for his only child. If he had... well, Oliver privately admitted that he would probably murder the man. The previous May, he had discovered a hatred of the man the likes of which he had never felt before and hoped never to again.

Whenever he wasn't training, in Hogsmeade or dealing with the everyday necessities, he was either hanging out with the team or doing missions for the Order of the Phoenix. Busy as he was, despite the utter boredom of secretly guarding a door in the Ministry itself, time flew. Yet it never seemed to fly fast enough for him. All he wanted was for Cedric and Hermione to come home to him.

Then the expected end-of-year battle against Voldemort came, and suddenly Oliver wished that the year had gone more slowly. He wouldn't have minded if time had stopped, in fact. Just remembering gave him the shivers...

* * *

_There had been nothing special about that day. It was a practice day for Oliver, and so he was doing what he did best- blocking the pitch hoops. The wind in his hair, the sun on his face, it was almost perfect._

_He had begun feeling unusually sore in his left arm, but it was nothing alarming. Probably just overstretched it on the last catch. Then blazing pain erupted in his chest._

_"Oliver!"_

_"Diggory, what's wrong?"_

_"Get a mediwizard!"_

_His teammates rushed over concernedly, Alec- the burly, bearded Chaser- hovering right beside him and steadying him. Bemused and still in pain, Oliver realized that he was tilted dangerously on his broom. The pain was receding into a dull ache, so he straightened up and landed as best he could._

_Now that his mental guards were down and he wasn't focusing on anything, Oliver could feel his bond mates- their terror and desperation. Or at least Cedric's. He was getting nothing whatsoever from Hermione except sheer agony in the middle of his chest._

_Not caring how it would look, he shucked his outer robes and pulled up the sleeve of his t-shirt to make absolutely sure. Panicking, Oliver was completely unaware of everything around him. All that mattered was the agony in his- in Hermione's- chest and the need to see. To make sure that she wasn't slipping away from him._

_All three bands of the bond were their original colors, and Oliver let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding. Now that he knew they were alive, he had to figure out where they were. He touched the bond with his eyes closed, going on instinct and following their connection to Cedric._

_What he saw made him snap back to his own body fast. They were somehow inside the Department of Mysteries, behind the very door that he had been a part of the task force to guard. 'Fat lot of good that did,' Oliver thought grimly, opening his eyes._

_"Oliver, what's happening?" asked Sophia, looking into his face with wide eyes._

_"I can't talk now, I need to go," Oliver blurted out, "They need me." Still moving on complete instinct, his mind elsewhere, he wrapped his magic around him like a cloak and turned on his heel. The apparition was uncomfortable and draining, feeling like he was moving through jello as he focused on nothing but Cedric and Hermione and following their bond to them._

_When he opened his eyes, he was in the Department of Mysteries and literally standing over Hermione. She was unconscious on the floor, just like he had seen through Cedric's eyes._

_Rage flowed through Oliver's veins like fire. There was no telling what he was going to do to whatever bastard had hurt his wife._

_Then he realized that half the people on his side were unconscious- a blonde girl, Hermione, Ginny and Clodagh. Longbottom's nose was bleeding heavily, Titanica had one arm wrapped around her torso and was hunched over and Ron was giggling senselessly. Only Cedric and Harry looked unharmed so far that he could see, while there were eight Death Eaters surrounding them._

_Luckily, they were all too stunned by his sudden appearance to curse him. As it was, Oliver himself was surprised that he had managed to not only get through the wards around the stadium but also the Ministry's plus the extra layer on this area. That shouldn't have been possible._

_Taking advantage of the unexpected distraction and reinforcement, Harry held a little glass ball above his head and sprinted away, shouting and taunting. The bottom seemed to drop out of Oliver's stomach as he realized what his old Seeker was doing. He was sacrificing himself, trying to draw the Death Eaters away from them. He had what they wanted, the prophecy, so he knew that they would follow._

_Most did, as did Longbottom. The remaining couple began to fire spells rapidly though, forcing battle with the remaining three_

_"I've never been more glad to see you," Cedric panted. In the dim light, sweat shone on his forehead and neck. The battle had been going on for quite some time, it seemed._

_"And I've never been less glad to see yeh," Oliver retorted. Able to use both hands for spell casting, he was even with the Death Eaters who had remained and weren't busy with Titanica._

_Despite being injured, she seemed to be holding up well. At least she was able to cast spells, though she relied more on blocking than dodging the curses that were thrown at her because of her injuries._

_From the fingertips of both Cedric's hands, a shield sprang with the word, "Bulla!" It was mainly clear, but there was an iridescent sheen to it and it wrapped entirely around the small group of teens, both conscious and unconscious, like a bubble. It also seemed to be semi-permeable, as a nasty looking orange curse was deflected but one of Titanica's stunners went straight through and hit its target._

_"Where did yeh learn this?" Oliver asked, impressed._

_One of the two Death Eaters left was incapacitated, or perhaps killed, by his own rebounding curse. The other, Oliver and Titanica both went for and the power of the two spells slammed him into a wall._

_"That book on triads, they had a glossary of spells at the back," Cedric replied distractedly as he looked around the room through his shield. Once he was sure that there were no more Death Eaters lurking about, he released the shield. He bent over and leaned down with his hands braced on his bent knees, obviously very tired. "What do we do now?" he asked._

_"Do yeh have a little extra strength left? You can borrow some from me, I'm still fresh," Oliver offered, his mind churning out a plan._

_"I do," Cedric answered firmly, standing straight again. Now that he was facing Oliver head on, a cut on his cheek and a gash across his arm could be seen._

_"Obviously, we can apparate through wards, even powerful ones. Yeh do that and get them out of danger, and I'll make sure Harry and Longbottom don't get themselves killed," Oliver decided. He didn't wait for a confirmation, sprinting out the door and toward where he could hear a big ruckus._

_How Harry and Longbottom could possibly be fighting off so many Death Eaters by themselves, he wasn't sure. All Oliver could put it down to was that it was The Boy Who Wouldn't Fucking Die, and pray that was enough. When he got to the door though, he grinned; they were saved. The rest of the Order had arrived._

_Determined and in high spirits now that the end was in sight, Oliver jumped into the fray. It felt surreal to actually be fighting in the first battle of what he was certain would turn into the Second Wizarding War. Surely someone else had borrowed his body and was using it to spit out more curses than any Death Eater was able to keep up with?_

_The tide of the battle was turning against the Order though, no matter that they were fresh and Oliver was cutting their enemies down with more ease than he was comfortable with. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tonks' vibrant pink head unmoving on the floor and Moody slumped against the dais unconscious. Kingsley was injured and they were still badly outnumbered._

_"DUBBLEDORE!" he heard Longbottom shout nearby._

_Was he really there? Having Stunned Travers, Oliver took the opportunity to look around and pray that Dumbledore really was there. If so, they were saved. If not... he didn't want to think about it._

_For his momentary distraction, Oliver received a small cut to his forehead. When he looked, it was Dolohov who was grinning madly at him in challenge._

_Their duel was not meant to be, however. Indeed, Dumbledore had come and was now using a spell that reeled in the Death Eaters and bound them together in the middle of the room._

_Relieved, Oliver slumped against the dais. It was over._

* * *

After that, he had immediately apparated to the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts where he was sure that Cedric had taken the rest of the group. Sure enough, Madame Pomfrey was working on Longbottom's nose and half the room was filled with Ron, the blonde girl, Ginny, Clodagh, and... Hermione.

Beside their wife's bed, Cedric had sat with a plaster on his cheek and bandages on his arm. He barely looked up when he heard the pop of apparition, knowing through the bond and the mere fact of their special abilities who it was. Together, they had sat beside Hermione's bed for days until she woke up.

Those were the most excruciating days of his life, not fully knowing but doubly hoping that Hermione would pull through. She was strong. She had to. And in the end, she did. For a few days she had to drink ten potions a day for a few days, but in the end she was almost as good as new and they couldn't be happier.

Of course, there was a scar where the unknown spell had hit. In the first days it was an angry red, but when it faded to light pink, it was actually kind of... pretty. It was shaped like a starburst in the middle of her chest, a circle from which many rays shot out and a few even reached the hollow of her throat and her sternum.

Hermione had been embarrassed and ashamed of it. Whenever one of them would trail their fingers over a piece of it, even over her clothing, she would move away.

At first, Oliver and Cedric thought that it was causing her pain and avoided the area as best they could. The last thing they wanted to do was hurt her. Then, after they overheard her saying that it was all healed, they put the pieces together.

* * *

_"Why don't yeh want us to touch yer scar, sparrow?" Oliver had asked tiredly one night. He had gotten a good dressing down from the coach before practice, his teammates had been nosy and all he wanted to do was curl up with his spouses. But Hermione had flinched away when he had laid a hand on the area below her bust and it became obvious that this needed to get resolved before anything._

_Hermione bit her lip, eyes down on her hands. They were wringing in her lap. "I... I don't want to talk about it," she tried to tell them firmly. It came out as an unsure mess._

_"We know. That's why we've been givin' it space, but... it's been a month. It's fully healed and yer still pushin' us away. We can't help if yeh won't tell us what's wrong," Oliver reasoned from where he laid on the bed beside where she sat._

_"You'll find it silly," Hermione denied._

_"We find it silly that you're trying to hide this from us," Cedric countered from where he sat on her other side._

_They were silent for a moment. The men hoped that Hermione would tell them of her own will. She obviously hoped that they would let it go._

_"It's ugly," Hermione finally whispered, "It's ugly to look at, it makes my skin crawl when I touch it, and... it's proof that I'm weak." When she looked at Oliver and then Cedric, her eyes were slightly glassy._

_Weak? How could she think she was weak? Puzzled at her thought process, Oliver stayed silent hoping that she would explain._

_Luckily for him, she did. It was like Hermione was on a roll and unable to stop as she continued, "I wasn't quick enough or strong enough, I wasn't good enough to keep from getting hit, and... I'm a girl. Scars aren't exactly attractive on us, and I've never understood what you see in me anyways, and I'm... I'm scared. That you'll realize I'm not good enough and leave me." She forced the last words out, refusing to look either of them in the eye again._

_Still not understanding, but putting his own confusion to the side, Oliver sighed. He pushed himself up to a sitting position and tilted her chin up to have her look him in the eye. What he saw blew him away- she honestly was afraid of something that would never come to pass._

_"Hermione," Cedric said firmly, drawing her gaze as he caught one of her hands, "You're ours and we're not letting you go. Especially not over something as stupid as a scar." He hadn't been so serious as he was now, since the day of his parents' funeral._

_"That scar, it tells a story, sparrow," Oliver told her, "Every scar does. This one though, it's special. Every time I see it, I smile because it reminds me all over again why I love yeh- yer bravery, yer loyalty, and that yer strong enough to survive what I'm sure has killed some people. It reminds me how close we came to losin' yeh."_

_"You're stuck with us," Cedric reminded her with a shadow of his usual grin, "I'm not sure we could let you go even if you wanted it. Besides, I've got scars from that debacle too." He pointed to the thin line across his cheek, and then held up the arm that had been sliced. There was a thick scar there, which would probably never go away since the wound was inflicted by Dark magic._

_For the first time in weeks, Hermione gave them a genuine smile. It was small, and it was hesitant, but she wasn't trying to pretend. And for the moment, that was enough._

* * *

If it were possible, the following summer and school year passed even faster for Oliver. Now that Cedric had graduated he didn't feel quite as alone, but now Hermione did. Not for the first time, he found that the age gap between them sucked.

At least now there was the rotating guard duty that allowed Oliver and Cedric one day a week to be back at Hogwarts. Aside of once a month they were placed on separate shifts, but they made the most of their time with Hermione. It was worth the mild sleep deprivation to them.

Thankfully, Cedric's new bosses were great about his weekly commitments and were willing to fix his work schedule around them. Then again, they knew their mother would have their heads if they weren't. Due to his dislike of the Ministry for slandering Harry and Dumbledore, and wary of most private companies, it had only been natural for Cedric to accept Fred and George's job offer as a jack-of-all trades at Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes.

Then the Battle of the Astronomy Tower came. If he'd had the time, Oliver would have again wished for the year to have gone slower or time to have stopped. However, since he was on duty at the time... he didn't.

* * *

_Gleeful laughter echoed around the next corridor, making Oliver freeze in place. That laughter wasn't from students, and it definitely wasn't teachers, combined with it coming from the hall where the Room of Requirement resided... Hogwarts was compromised, just as Professor Dumbledore had feared._

_Thankful that he was still around the corner, Oliver took the opportunity to cast his Patronus- which, he just noticed had changed. "Loqui," he cast on the large silvery otter that had appeared, before recording his message, "Intruders on the seventh floor. Battle is here." As the animal nodded in an almost human fashion, he pulled out the old D.A. coin that he had been given as an honorary member and spelled the same message onto it. As much as he hated to admit it, the Order needed help and the D.A. were the best and closest reinforcements he could think of._

_Not a minute after the Patronus floated away, there was a yelp in front of him. The intruders had come around the corner- Death Eaters, obviously as shocked to see Oliver as he was to see them. And at their lead, young Draco Malfoy._

_Not quite a split second later, they were dueling fiercely. There were too many of them to handle on his own, but Oliver knew that he could at least slow them up. They couldn't be allowed to get to the students!_

_Desperate, Oliver tugged on the bond. It wasn't Cedric's night, but he was needed now!_

_Time seemed to be inching by as the Death Eaters pushed Oliver further and further back. With one hand he was holding a rebound shield up, while the other he used to throw hexes back at his enemies. They came to a junction in the hallways, which with a curse, Oliver saw Malfoy use to get past him._

_Bulkier, the rest of the Death Eaters were trapped in the seventh floor corridor for the moment. Only for the moment though, as Oliver was pushed back by a purple curse just enough for a few of them to pass. He was wearing out quickly and if backup didn't get there fast...!_

_Only a few were able to slide into other halls however, before Cedric appeared with a small pop beside him. He was barely dressed- wearing pajama pants, an inside out shirt and Oliver's slippers- but in his eyes there was no sign of fatigue. Quickly he added his specialty bubble shield right under the rebound shield and with his other hand began tossing hexes and curses at nearly double the pace Oliver had been able to. He had always been the more talented of the two with wandwork._

_That was when the rest of the Order arrived. Bill Weasley, Tonks and Remus came barreling into the corridor wands blazing. "What's going on!" Bill yelled over the ruckus._

_"Some escaped to the left! I think they're going for the Astronomy Tower!" Oliver shouted back, sending a Stunner at one of his opponents._

_Swearing, Bill ran in the direction indicated followed by Tonks and Remus. Around the corner, Oliver could easily hear voices he recognized shouting spells- Ron, Ginny, Clodagh and Longbottom. Now that he was far from alone in this mess, he didn't relax but felt a little more confident that they would win and get out of this alive._

_Not ten minutes later Titanica and Lowe joined the fight, wand, teeth and nails bared and fighting for their lives. While the Ravenclaw fared well enough, Lowe managed to nearly lose a leg to a powerful cutting hex. The limb was only held on by a scrap of skin and tissue, and she passed out soon after Oliver and Cedric pulled her to safety behind their shield._

_It was about then that Snape tore past, clutching Malfoy by his collar and ordering a retreat._

_'Retreat?' Oliver wondered for a split second, confused. Then he saw the Death Eaters begin fighting more to escape than to kill, and it struck. If it weren't for the shields, he and Cedric would have been at least wounded as they stood in shock._

_It took a blur of black hair and robe passing by them to break them out of it. "Harry!" shouted Cedric, taking down his shield to chase the boy._

_Leaving his old Seeker to his husband, Oliver stayed where he was. As he saw it, the Death Eaters were less his problem than getting Lowe to the Hospital Wing before she bled out. Her face was unnaturally white and her breathing too shallow for comfort as it was._

_Careful to keep his shield up just in case, he knelt on the floor. With a disgusted grimace, Oliver adjusted the position of the leg to where it would be if it were still fully attached and conjured a large roll of bandages and a few splints. Carefully he positioned the splints and had the bandages wind themselves around them, tying off somewhat sloppily at the ends._

_Feeling a little apprehensive about what he was going to do, Oliver put one fingertip to the palm of his other hand. The chances of getting infected were sky high, but it would be worth it. Besides, Titanica an Clodagh dealt with it just fine..._

_"Wait! Let me through!" it was Clodagh on the other side of the shield, still in vampire mode. Her face had streaks of black on it and her hair was almost as wild as Hermione's, half cascading down her shoulders and the other half chopped to just under her chin. It seemed that a cutting hex had just missed her head._

_Seeing no Death Eaters left in the area, Oliver took down the shield._

_Without a thought to it, Clodagh used one of her nails to slice her palm open. The wounded hand she pressed to her aunt's lips, while the other she used to pry said lips open. Wincing, she fisted her wounded hand to make more blood flow._

_Unexpectedly Lowe's eyes opened somewhat. Weakly she grabbed her niece's hand and pulled it closer, sucking on the wounds like a babe nursing. As she drank, her cheeks began to flush her skin gained some color back and her movements grew a little stronger._

_Not quite a minute later, Clodagh pulled away. It took her prying her aunt off, but she managed without too much effort._

_"Time to get her to Madam Pomfrey," Oliver declared with a grimace. He got to his feet and, praying that this wouldn't hurt Lowe's leg even more, levitated her to the Hospital Wing._

* * *

From there, things got even more messy. While Cedric and Hermione and somehow everyone except Bill Weasley were alright (a miracle if Oliver had ever seen one), Professor Dumbledore was dead. That was why Snape had been sounding the retreat, because their mission was done.

Disbelief settled into Oliver's stomach as the information tried to sink into his brain. Logically he knew that Professor Dumbledore would have had to die sometime, he was only human after all, and a good age too. At the same time there was a feeling almost like the headmaster was an eternal being; like he had always been and therefore would always be, and so it was impossible for him to die... Especially at the hands of a man he had trusted so much.

Bile rose up in Oliver's throat at the mere thought of the potions master. While he had never liked him and thought he was a greasy git who needed desperately to get laid, he had never thought him capable of this kind of betrayal. It seemed that everything was turning on its head that day: Death Eaters in Hogwarts, Professor Dumbledore dead and what had seemed to be a minor antagonist turned to a true villain.

Then, the night turned bittersweet.

* * *

_Even as Mrs. Weasley and Fleur cried in each others' arms, the doors banged open again. Not sure who to expect, everyone turned their attention to the entry. When Oliver did, his jaw fell a little open._

_Possibly the last person he expected stood in the doorway, eyes going from bed to bed until he found his target: Viktor Krum. Not even pausing to greet the others in the room, he limped across the room to the bed across from Bill's where Lowe laid unconscious. As soon as he got there, Oliver saw him bend over her though his body blocked whatever he was doing._

_"Viktor?" asked Fleur, a bemused frown on her beautiful face, "What are you doing 'ere?"_

_It was as if he just realized he wasn't alone. When Krum turned around, leaning on the bed, he took in the sight of those across the aisle with a look of surprise. "I... the story is long," he finally replied._

_"Are you hurt?" Hermione immediately asked, concerned, "You're limping."_

_Still rather wary of his fellow quidditch player, Oliver watched carefully as Krum struggled for words._

_"I am not the one hurt," the Bulgarian finally decided to say. To illustrate what he meant, he pulled up the sleeve of his robe... and showed them two intertwining bands of violet and red, seemingly tattooed around his wrist._

_The breath caught in Oliver's chest as understanding flooded him. "Yer married?" he blurted out._

_There was a shocked, expectant silence as Krum nodded, rolling his sleeve back down over his hands. He explained in much better English than Oliver was sure he had just a couple of years ago, "After the Cup, Mo-ara wrote to me and during the Tournament we spent some time together. Ve fell in love during that time, but I vas a little stupid and got scared avay by my parents not approving. So I pursued Herm-own-ninny because she did not like me for my fame, but I kept alvays thinking of Mo-ara. So I 'manned up' as you English say, and asked her out. Ve got engaged a year ago and married over Easter." By the end of his little speech, the hollows of his cheeks were turning a dull pink._

_"Congratulations," Cedric said automatically, though he appeared completely bewildered._

_At first Oliver wondered what Krums parents disliked about Lowe. While she could be a little cold and was definitely Slytherin material, she did care somewhere deep down and she had proven herself to be very clever and even brave. Then it struck him up the head like a rogue bludger: her being part vampire, not Pureblood, and/or an age gap of something like twenty four years. If he didn't know Lowe as well as he did, he would rather agree with the Krums._

_Several people hollowly echoed Cedric, probably just as bewildered at the match as he was._

_Tonks, however, made sure that the talk of romance was not anywhere near over. "You see!" she exclaimed in a strained voice as she glared at Lupin, "Not only does she still want Bill even though he's gotten bit up by a bloody werewolf," she gestured to Fleur, who was mopping up Bill's wounds again, "But he loves her," she pointed to Krum and Lowe, "Even though he's twice her age and she's part vampire! They don't care!"_

_"It's different. She's only part vampire and Bill will not be a full-" Lupin countered, suddenly tense._

_"I don't care either, I don't care! I've told you a million times..." Tonks argued, seizing the front of his shabby robes and shaking them._

_'Finally that confrontation comes up,' Oliver thought, rolling his eyes. It had been the drama of the Order for ages now, the tension ratcheting up and up until it finally exploded._

_It seemed to be delayed for another time, and so Oliver squeezed Hermione's hand and reached over for Cedric's shoulder. "I'm tired," the Scotsman said plainly, "Let's get to bed for tonight."_

_"But Harry-" Hermione protested._

_"He needs time to come to terms with this on his own, love," Cedric sighed, "We all do. But for right now, we need sleep more than anything. It's probably near two in the morning."_

_When he looked to Harry, Oliver saw the boy nod listlessly. With a mouthed, "Thanks," he and Cedric steered Hermione out of the room and into the corridor._

_As always, they went to the Room of Requirement and held each other until they fell asleep._

* * *

The next couple of days were difficult for everyone. All classes were suspended and many students were whisked away by fearful parents. Some went quietly and perhaps even gladly, gone even so soon as breakfast the next day. Then there were those like the Irish boy, Seamus, who had a shouting match in the entrance hall with his mother until she allowed him to stay for Professor Dumbledore's funeral.

Most of the time the trio stuck with Harry, Ron and Ginny. The days were bright and beautiful when storms would have been more fitting for the occasion, and with all exams and classes cancelled they had an abundance of free time. Often the group wandered the grounds, the rest of the time being spent in the Gryffindor common room or at meals.

What with Hogsmeade filling up rapidly with witches and wizards who wanted to pay their respects to Professor Dumbledore, the Ministry delegation that had arrived the day after his death stayed in the castle. It created a few uncomfortable spots, between Percy Weasley choosing his job over his family and Scrimgeour, the Minister, hounding Harry to be the Ministry's poster boy. Oliver himself wanted as little to do with the Ministry and its members as possible. He had a feeling that they would be a little too interested in his, Cedric's and Hermione's bond for comfort.

It was merely luck and good timing that kept the two groups separate the whole three days until the funeral. That, and Madam Pomfrey who would not allow the politicians inside the Hospital Wing. Twice a day, they visited Neville (who had been knocked out in the battle), Bill and Lowe- or rather, the Krums. Sometimes Clodagh and Titanica were there or hanging out with Oliver and company, and sometimes they were by themselves as before they were befriended.

Then the funeral came. It was a beautiful event as far as sad ones go, taking place on the grounds by the lake in the middle of the day. There was a huge crowd present, including everyone from Umbridge (who hurried away from the centaur teacher Firenze as soon as she saw him), to a giant that was apparently Hagrid's half brother Grawp, to the driver of the Knight Bus. The entire Lowe family sat in the row behind Oliver, Mr. Lowe and his children in thick cloaks that shielded them from the worst of the sunlight. It seemed almost like every person Oliver had ever seen in the wizarding world, aside of the obvious Death Eaters and those imprisoned, was attending.

The speech could hardly be heard where Oliver sat between Cedric and a group of Ravenclaws, but what he did hear was too formal to be truly "Dumbledore". While the headmaster had been a noble person, he was more than a touch eccentric and the tufty haired wizard sounded much like he was reading from a general script. It wasn't very unique.

On the other side of Cedric and Hermione, he could see Harry fighting off a grin a couple of times. It made Oliver not feel so bad for doing the same thing. The memories of squashy purple sleeping bags and a flowered bonnet from a Christmas cracker were almost too much to keep from chuckling about.

Then the merpeople sang and the centaurs fired their bows in salute before they disappeared back into the lake and Forbidden Forest. It was almost as wondrous as the white fire that sprang up around Professor Dumbledore's body to create the top of his tomb.

After that, it was only an hour before the train came to take the students home. Not many students chose to ride it however, as their parents were mostly there and took them home personally. Partially for that reason and at the same time for emotional support, the triad took the train back to London with Harry and the Weasleys.

This time when they met up with the Grangers on the other side of the barrier, Oliver smiled grimly at them. Hopefully Hermione had a plan to get them to safety. If it were possible, they were the biggest targets right after herself, Harry, Ron and the members of the Order.

The open war had begun.

* * *

**-EOC-**

The next part of the alternate ending deals with "seventh year" and afterward! I remember someone mentioning that they wanted to see weddings and babies, so that will be for you.

Hopefully this is forming up to expectations, it's been very difficult to write. This story was supposed to be even sadder in the end than it turned out, so putting a happy ending on it is very difficult for me. Completely happy endings in general are hard to write, actually. Please have patience with me.

Please review and tell me how it worked out!

-Thrae


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